


Anti-Mimesis

by coldgreydawn



Category: Game of Thrones RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blended family, Denmark - Freeform, Divorce, Don't Like Don't Read, Europe, F/M, Falling In Love, Friends to Lovers, Game of Thrones References, Grief/Mourning, I mean no disrespect, I wanna do this right, Life Imitating Art, Mature Love, Mutual Pining, No cheating, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, RPF, Sorry Not Sorry, Step-parents, Teenagers, They are both single, Women Being Awesome, You Have Been Warned, and hours of watching gwen/nik compilations, gwen in this story is based on me if I was an actress lol, gwendolaj - Freeform, i just couldn't get this out of my head, i'll do my best, its going to take some time before they hang again, like kylie minogue, slowish burn, this is very meta
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2020-03-26 19:09:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19012051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldgreydawn/pseuds/coldgreydawn
Summary: When Nikolaj's marriage unceremoniously ends weeks after Game of Thrones does, Gwen has to figure out what that means for her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tarthserjaime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tarthserjaime/gifts), [sarahoftarth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahoftarth/gifts), [SeleneU](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeleneU/gifts), [LovingGwendolaj](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LovingGwendolaj/gifts), [Sembell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sembell/gifts).



> I swore I'd never write RPF but here we are. These two beautiful idiots have taken me down a dark path, and I regret, literally, nothing. This fic is completely from me and I am not suggesting anything with it. Plz don't share it to anyone depicted in the story! Boundaries, people. Enjoy!

When she heard (or rather, read) the news, alone in bed while squinting at her phone at three-something in the morning in a hotel room in Montreal, her stomach sank, the shock of the revelation sending a jolt to her heart. She couldn’t believe it, didn’t want to believe it. She’d just talked to him a few weeks ago on the phone, and they’d texted from time to time since then. He hadn’t hinted that anything was amiss.

She rolled over in bed, the warm block of her phone still clutched in her hand, and looked over at the city lights peeking in through the curtains. Grief began to descend on her, as she tried to process it. It just didn't seem like it could be true. Quickly, she read the press release again. “The couple are committed to parenting their daughters and still remain the best of friends.”

She gave a conciliatory shrug to that. At least it sounded like an amicable split. Hopefully there would be no litigious, drawn-out, demoralizing ordeal. But, still. They were divorcing, after twenty happy years. It didn’t make sense.

She placed her phone face down on the bedside table, and turned away from it, trying to calm her racing mind. She needed to sleep. She had a flight to catch in the afternoon and she had to be up in six hours.

But as she lay there in the dark, her heart broke for the end of such a seemingly perfect union. They’d been so completely dedicated to each other, and it’d been obvious Nikolaj was completely smitten with his wife.

Nukaaka was a formidable and effusive woman with a fascinating heritage and past and Gwen had felt humbled in her presence. And she’d seemed nothing but happy with her choice in spouse, even if she chose to spend most of her time in Denmark while her husband travelled the globe.

She couldn’t think of any scenario in which the two of them would split, and so suddenly.

Unless…well. Nik _did_ spend a lot of time away, and his wife had her own career and humanitarian responsibilities. She’d seen it before: lovely, loving couple with idyllic home life and beautiful children pulled apart by the simple fact that people grow apart as they spend time apart. And it could leave the relationship vulnerable to outside influence. The fact that they’d done a press release was surprising. They weren’t particularly public people.

She wondered if they’d done that to get ahead of something that was about to come out.

Not that she thought Nik would ever cheat. She’d spent innumerable hours with him while sober, drunk, tired, dirty, wet, happy, irritated, and heartbroken to know that his first priority had always been getting home to his girls. It was where he rested and recharged, spending weeks just taking walks and being silly with his daughters and whatever the hell else they did in Denmark. _Hygge_.

But it didn’t mean that he didn’t. She knew that well enough. Human beings were, well…human. It just made her a little sick to think about.

She groaned and rolled over again. She pulled up her feet, which were half-dangling off the end of the bed. At her height she was used to it, but tonight it was pissing her off. She just couldn’t get comfortable.

Her mind was continuing its search as to the possible reason for the end of her friend’s marriage. It wouldn’t let her go. She thought to ask herself why, but she knew, already, why, deep down, this was affecting her so much. Yes, part of it was because the split-up was unfortunate and completely incongruous with everything she’d seen from the Coster-Waldaus.

But, apart from that, well…she and Giles had parted ways months ago, with so little fanfare she didn’t think the press had even picked up on it. It had been the things she’d just listed—too much time apart, growing apart and growing up, she supposed. She wanted to slow down, now that her life didn’t revolve around Game of Thrones and Brienne of Tarth. And while she had wanted so much more from the show for her character—the ending still smarted—she was happy to move on.

She wanted a life. Kids, maybe, a house in the country so she could relax. Get into gardening, go for walks. Revel in anonymity. She’d still model, do plays and films here and there. She’d been incredibly lucky and she’d been smart with her money. She could do whatever she wanted.

But the news had left a bubble of nervous energy in her gut that kept her from settling, and the reason was buried so deep she didn’t even want to admit it to herself.

It lay in the looks that lasted a little too long, the brushes of skin that were probably not an accident. The giggling, the teasing, the blushing, the flirting, and the gazing, and the raised eyebrows on their fellow castmates’ faces when they thought she and Nik couldn’t see.

Hours spent talking about silly things and serious things, making each other laugh until they almost pissed themselves. It was the drunken nights out where things had gotten a little out of hand a time or two, but then were quickly forgotten the next morning. The way she knew her feelings were written on her face when she looked at him, and the feeling she got when she turned to see that gaze of absolute adoration on his face. These little things hadn’t really mattered when they were with other people.

Well, they mattered now.

Even if she tried to avoid him, they would inevitably find themselves together again somewhere down the line. Fans unhappy with Jaime and Brienne’s ending were trying to drum up interest in a new project with the two of them. Apart from that there would be conventions and interviews and reunions down the line.

They never would truly divest themselves of Game of Thrones. It would follow them, and they’d be connected forever because of it. And when they did end up in the same room together, all those looks and touches could be much more than a way to pass the time on set. They could be promises of something more. Something much more.

The thought terrified her as it filled her with an impossible hope.

Her phone buzzed on the table. A text, probably, from one of her former castmates or one of her mates. Her mum, maybe. It was nearly ten in the morning in England. She was sure they were all hearing it now. They’d be surprised, asking her if she’d had any idea what had happened since she’d been joined at the hip with the man for the majority of their time on set, and off.

She reached over and deftly set her phone to Do Not Disturb mode, placing it back on the table, and then collapsed onto the bed with a huff. She quashed the temptation to text him, offer condolences or ask what had happened. She shouldn’t. She _wouldn’t_.

It would sound hollow, coming from her. Insincere. He’d given her her space when she and Giles had split and hadn’t commented on it. He’d just treated her normally. She’d been so, so grateful for it.

And now she would do the same. She’d give him his space. Two months, three. Four or five would be ideal.

She took a deep breath and wished for sleep.

Now if only she could hold out for that long.


	2. Chapter 2

So, she buried herself in her work. For weeks she kept herself busy at nearly every waking minute with it, with friends, with family. Every one of them asked her about Nikolaj and Nukaaka, and she practiced her response that she had no idea, was giving him his space, that they had seemed very happy, and it was a real shame.

But it was hard. As the weeks ticked by and she heard nothing from him in their group chat or via text, she started to worry a little. The split had been sudden, and she knew his family history: alcoholism, depression. But she didn’t relent. If she was going to do this right, she had to wait.

So she did. She took walks, caught up with loads of old mates, visited her mother at the weekend and helped her with a landscaping project of all bloody things. She went to the cinema, swam laps in the pool. It was nice, to have the time to do things again for herself. Star Wars and Game of Thrones had made the last eight years of her life chaotic, even if she had enjoyed every minute of it. Now life was calm, soft, quiet.

But, one night nearly two months after the split, she was drunk, hanging with some mates in a South London flat having a very good time. And she cracked. Just a little. She texted, ironically, the only person she knew would be discreet and have the information she sought.

 _What happened with N &NCW?_ she asked Lena Headey in the toilet of her friend’s flat, waiting a few minutes for a response before giving up and heading back out to the party.

Her phone chirruped a half-hour later, as the get-together wound down. The group was sitting around the fireplace listening to soft jazz. It was incredibly soporific and Gwen was having trouble keeping her eyes open.

 _Not sure 100%._ Was the reply. But then another text came in. _But Peter heard 2nd hand (so take with many grains of salt) that she met someone._

Gwen’s heart stopped. Her hand went to her mouth. Oh, her heart broke for him, right there. He’d been so completely in love with the woman, and rightly so.

 _I can’t believe that,_ Gwen texted back. _He must be heartbroken._

Lena’s reply came in about ten minutes later, as Gwen’s head started to nod in the stifling, soothing living room. She jolted awake, fumbling for her phone.

 _Apparently they are all still living together_. Gwen smiled and shook her head. So Danish of them. _But marriage is over. Haven’t talked to him, but Peter did. Says he’s okay._

Gwen watched as the messages came in and sighed. She was about to type a reply when her phone buzzed again.

_How are you?_

All the air went out of her body. She tried to suck it back in, her breaths coming shallow. Lena was the only one who knew, after the two of them had ended up drunk one night, years ago in a Belfast hotel room, lamenting lost loves and men in general. She and Dan hadn’t married yet and she was angry at him about something, was complaining about Jerome (as per usual) and Gwen was cataloguing her past romantic exploits, asking Lena whether she thought she’d made the right choices.

And it had been just a little thing Lena said. Something about how she was a little jealous of the repartee Gwen had with Nik, that she wished she could find something like that. Gwen had pointed out, quite obviously, that there was no romantic aspect to their relationship at all.

“Yeah,” Lena had said from the bed, waggling her wine glass at her, “but if you were single it would be a different story. Wouldn’t it?”

Gwen had been flabbergasted, denying it vociferously. She had felt a little like Brienne under Cersei’s gaze, what with Lena smirking at her as she sipped her wine.

“Don’t pretend like you haven’t thought about it,” Lena had said, and Gwen’s face had suddenly gone hot and red. “I’ve never seen chemistry like that.”

Gwen had merely shrugged, silently sipping her drink.

“It doesn’t matter,” she finally said, feeling horrible. “They’re going to be together forever.”

She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter, but Lena had heard it. And now, suddenly interested, she’d gotten up from the bed and came over to sit with Gwen on the sofa.

“Gwen—”

“I don’t know how I feel!” she’d said, protesting. She wasn’t going to let her couch her words into something they weren’t. “I do like being with him. I do wish I could have that every day. It’s so much fun! But we also drive each other mad half the time. Who’s to say we’d even work out?”

“You never know until you try,” Lena had said, her voice wistful. Gwen knew she was speaking from experience. “I’m not saying I hope they split up. I hope you two get a chance, though. It’d be such a shame.” Gwen had nodded, knowing exactly what she meant. “There’s a lot of respect between the two of you, and a strong friendship. You’re already halfway there.”

Gwen had just laughed. Softly at first, but then she let it grow into one of her great guffaws, the two of them drunkenly cackling for what felt like minutes.

“Okay,” Gwen said, taking a swig of her drink. “Let’s never speak of _that_ again.”

“Cheers,” Lena agreed, and they clinked glasses.

And that was that. The next morning, Gwen was embarrassed as hell, but Lena played it cool, pretending nothing had happened. Gwen wasn’t even sure she remembered. Well, until now.

_I don’t know what to do! I want to be supportive but that’s not us. I need to give him time._

_But how do you feel?_

Gwen sighed. _Alternately terrified, guilty and hopeful._

 _Lol._ Lena’s reply came, and Gwen couldn’t help but laugh. _I think that’s appropriate. Are you in London?_

_Yes._

_What are you doing tomorrow?_

_Apart from being hungover, nothing._

_Same. Let’s meet up. Somewhere we can talk._

_Come see my new place. We can sit out back and chat._

_Can I bring Teddy?_

_Always._

_1:30?_

_Perfect. See you then._

_Cheers. Love you. ❤️_

_Love you too._ 😘

Gwen smiled. She was still so thankful to have met these wonderful people who were her castmates. They really were like a family, and sometimes a deep sadness descended on her when she realised that she’d never get to walk onto set and spend her days and nights with these people, playing games and singing and occasionally acting.

And then there were other times she was truly glad to be done with it.

She deftly ordered a taxi on her phone, only to glance up and realize she was the only person in the room still awake. Laughing, she let out a shout, and they all woke with a start. _God, we’re getting old,_ she thought. But then she bid them all good night and slipped out, bounding down the stairs to fold her long frame into the cab.

She was beyond excited to see Lena and her little girl. It’d been months since she’d seen either of them and she needed to bare her soul. It wouldn’t do to hold it all inside. She smiled as she leaned against the headrest, watching the city lights go by.

She was still fairly tipsy, and soon, dangerous, hopeful thoughts materialized in her head. Seeing him again, laughing and talking and joking again. Giving him a hug and feeling his beard scratch her face.

She missed it all so desperately that she wondered what on earth she would have done if he and his wife hadn’t split. Just keep on pretending? Pushing it down, compartmentalizing? Or organizing trips to Denmark for work and just happening to be in his neighbourhood?

She shook her head. _No._ She would have had to dissociate from him completely just to move on. Or would she have? Maybe the split was the catalyst that made her realise how serious it was. Perhaps she would have carried on, pushed her feelings down, found someone new and lived as happily as she could.

Really, who could say? She could only deal with the situation she had before her. The one that kept her vibrating with poorly-repressed hope, excitement, and fear whenever she thought of it.

The cab came to a stop, and she sat with her temple resting against the window for a few seconds before the driver spoke and she realized too late that he was parked in front of her house.

Laughing, she apologised for being a little drunk and paid him, pouring herself out of the car and into her house. She kicked off her shoes, locked the door, pulled her dress up over her head and a t-shirt back down over it, collapsed onto the bed and slept for nine hours.


	3. Chapter 3

She woke to her phone ringing loudly next to her head and frowned, answering it sight unseen, her voice hoarse and groggy.

“It’s me!” came Lena’s happy voice.

Gwen could only groan in confusion.

“Late night?”

“Quite,” she croaked, finally opening her eyes. It was not early-morning light that streamed into her bedroom. “What time is it?” she asked, suddenly panicked. She sat up very quickly and moaned as her head swam.

“It’s not quite eleven, darling, calm down,” Lena said, and Gwen collapsed back against the headboard in relief. “How are you?” Gwen could hear a child laughing in the background of Lena’s call and she smiled.

“I’m fine. Getting too old to drink that much. Christ!” She put her hand to her throbbing temple.

“It gets even worse after you have kids, too,” Lena said, as Gwen rubbed her eyes and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “It’s as if they suck all the strength _right_ out of you.”

Gwen laughed mirthlessly, resting her elbows on her thighs. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for me. Not any time soon, anyway.”

“Oh, love, I have faith in your baby-making chances. You’ll be pregnant by this time next year. Mark my words.”

Gwen smiled. She had confided in her Lena about her desire to have a child and her ticking biological clock a while back. Thankfully, she had had her ova frozen when she was in her early thirties on the advice of a friend, but Gwen was hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

“Next year?” Gwen asked, laughing. “That’s an awfully liberal estimate, Ms. Headey. And if you haven’t realised, I reached a rather large milestone last year, and—”

“You’re still years younger than I was when I had Teddy,” she said, and Gwen nodded conciliatorily. _Only two years younger,_ she thought. _But, still. It was still possible the old-fashioned way_.

“I know,” she said, finally starting to feeling awake. “Why did you call me so early, again?”

“Oh, just wondering if we could move up our little playdate picnic? I have to pick up Wylie from his dad’s at half-two, and I reckoned we could come over for noon. Then we would have enough time to have a proper visit.” Gwen looked around her room at the mess, frowning. She’d only moved in five months ago and already this place was in shambles. She hadn’t had a cleaner in in weeks and her own housekeeping skills were dismal.

“Can you bring the refreshments? I don’t know that I’ve got anything in.”

“Absolutely.” There was a sound of a crash, and then a child crying. “Darling, what happened?” Gwen heard Lena ask as the cries got louder. She smiled. “Gwen, my love, we’ll be there in an hour. I’ve got to deal with this.”

“No problem,” Gwen laughed. “See you soon!” She hung up her phone and placed it back on the bed. She groaned again, rubbing her face vigorously. She felt awful. She needed to stop agreeing to things while half off her face.

Shaking her head, she got up and headed for the shower.

μ

An hour and half later, she’d forgotten all her previous misgivings. A shower, three glasses of water and some paracetamol had taken the edge off. And Teddy’s adorability was taking off the rest.

They were sitting in Gwen’s back garden next to the pool, watching the little girl as she swam. Lena had been teaching her since she was an infant, and now, at five, she could swim better than most children twice her age. But still, they kept their eyes on her, constantly vigilant.

“This is lovely,” Lena said, taking a bite of a slice of watermelon. “Weather’s perfect.”

“I know!” Gwen replied, grabbing a strawberry. “It’s been so cool.”

“So,” Lena said, turning to sit sideways in her chair with purpose to face her friend. “How are you feeling about our esteemed colleague’s divorce today?”

“Divorce?” Gwen asked. She replaced the strawberry on the tray, suddenly not hungry. “Already?”

Lena nodded, her eyes not leaving her daughter. “Two weeks ago. Some of the European press caught it.” She flicked her eyes over to Gwen. “I thought you knew.”

Gwen could only shake her head. “Why so quickly?” she asked.

“Well, they’re still living in the same house, so they’ve got joint custody.” Lena shrugged. “And she’s carrying on with another man, which is still not 100% confirmed,” she said, pointing her finger at Gwen, “but seems likely. I’m sure he was hurt by it, but you know him. He probably wanted to show her how perfectly fine with it he was. And they all carry on in their absurdly amicable socialistic Danish way.”

Gwen laughed at that. They were watching the little girl play, sitting on the stairs of the pool with several bright plastic toys.

“They are all absolutely ridiculous,” she said, smiling. “But it’s sweet, I suppose. He’s so devoted to his girls and he wants to be close to them if they need him.”

She became acutely aware of two things: that Lena was watching her, and that she’d neglected to put on any make-up today. Her face had likely gone beet-red.

“You’re in love with him,” Lena stated, and it was so fucking weird to hear her say those words; life imitating art imitating life? Was that what it was?

Gwen sighed, her eyes watching the girl play. She could only really shrug.

“I guess I am,” she said, after some time. It was the first time she’d said it out loud, and while it felt good, she was terrified. “I guess maybe I have been for a while.”

Gwen’s eyes flicked over to Lena’s face to find the older woman smiling in that little crooked way she did.

“You don’t seem surprised,” Gwen said, and Lena shrugged.

“Why should I be?” Lena asked, laughing a little. “I’ve known it for years. I just didn’t want to upset you because he’d been married for years and had two lovely children.”

“But he’s not married anymore,” Gwen said, after a beat, scarcely able to believe the words even as she said them.

“No,” Lena said, her eyes back on her daughter. “What are you going to do about it?”

Gwen laughed hard, shaking her head. “I’ve absolutely no idea!” She laughed again, softly this time. “I’m worse than Brienne.”

Lena leaned forward to grasp Gwen’s shoulder. “You are much more charming than Brienne of Tarth, darling. A lot more refined, quite a bit more experienced.”

“I haven’t got experience with this,” Gwen countered. _Who did, really?_ She wondered to herself. _Starting a romantic relationship with someone you’ve worked on and off with for eight years after he divorces his wife of 20 years and probably has no idea you have feelings for him, while you have absolutely no idea if he has for you. Oh, and he lives in a different country. In the same house as his now ex-wife and their daughters despite divorcing two weeks ago._ She sighed, shaking her head. It really was, as Lena would say, _bonkers_.

She was pulled out of her reverie by a small, cold hand patting her arm, and she turned to see Teddy Cadan looking at her with her big blue eyes.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Gwen said. “Good swim?”

The girl nodded, brushing her wet hair back from her face.

“Come here, love,” Lena said, unfolding a massive fluffy pink beach towel and holding it open. Her daughter ran to her, giggling as Lena wrapped her in it and pulled her onto her lap.

“You look sad,” Teddy said, and both Gwen and Lena laughed.

“I am, a little,” Gwen said, surprising herself.

“Why?” Teddy asked, for what Gwen estimated to be the tenth time today.

“Because,” she started, her cheeks colouring at Lena’s look. “I—like someone. And afraid that he doesn’t like me back,” Gwen started, her eyes flicking back and forth between Lena and her daughter.

“Why not?”

“Yeah, Gwen, why not?” Lena asked, and Gwen was now properly embarrassed now, bowing her head. She took a breath.

“Because,” she started, looking back up at the mother and daughter pair. “He was with someone else for a long time. A very long time. And now they’re not together. And sometimes it takes a long time for someone to feel ready to be with another person again. And I have no idea how he feels about me.”

“I think he likes you,” Teddy said, and Gwen looked over to see Lena’s lips moving at her daughter’s ear. Gwen gave the woman a look.

“Why do you think that?” she asked the girl.

“’Coz Mummy said,” Teddy admitted, laughing. “And because you’re pretty and funny,” she continued, and Gwen found herself blushing yet again, tears threatening at the corner of her eyes at the little girl's guileless praise.

“Thank you, darling,” she said, wiping discreetly at her eye and reaching across the table to squeeze her impossibly tiny hand. “Well, if you both think so, then maybe he does. Why not?” Gwen shrugged, laughing. Lena winked at her, and she felt slightly heartened.

Then Teddy unceremoniously told her mother she had to go to the toilet, and, laughing, Lena led her daughter back into the house.

Gwen watched them go, then reached over for her sunglasses, sliding them on as she leaned back against the chaise longue.

She stared out across the water of the pool and her tiny Highgate back garden. She tried to relax, shutting her eyes and stretching her legs out. But her mind would not stop. _Could Lena be right?_ She wondered. She’d spent almost as much time with him as Gwen had, and had seen them around each other. She shrugged, folding her arms in front of her.

She did know that they had a chemistry that hadn’t experienced with anyone else, ever. They bickered like siblings sometimes, at other times like long-married spouses, and even, if they were drunk or tired enough, like lovers. And while it had sprung from his absurdly method approach to developing their relationship, it had continued even as their friendship had grown. 

They were highly attuned to one another, always knew what the other was doing, how they were feeling. He stared at her. A lot. When he didn’t think she was paying attention. But she was, always. When he was around, she always knew where he was, and what he was doing. It was instinctual.

And, of course, she was attracted to him. How could she not be? At first he was so dismissive that she didn’t even register how good-looking he was. But as time went on, there were times she was completely taken away by the beauty of the man, to the point that it distracted her at work. And the fact that he was often completely oblivious to it, was as frustrating as it was adorable. He knew he was hot, but he didn’t care. He cared about acting, about getting it right and doing the work as best he could. He cared about his family, about world issues and was a staunch feminist. He was so ridiculously Scandinavian.

In the beginning, he’d treated her the way most attractive men and boys had during her life: with an indifferent playfulness. He would tease and needle her, sometimes picking an insecurity and jumping on it for laughs whether the cameras were rolling or not. He seemed to enjoy the awful words Jaime hurled at Brienne in the beginning, but when she’d started to fight back—if only because she couldn’t stand it anymore—the dynamic had changed.

Suddenly, they were throwing jabs back and forth, a battle of wits and wills, getting a truly good, almost improvisational wordplay going at all times. It kept them both on their toes, it made all their scenes so much easier, and she had started to see the grudging respect in his eyes, the little smiles as she flexed her playground retort muscles, honed after many, many years of being the tallest in her class.

It really was no wonder that any castmate unlucky enough to be in a scene with Jaime and Brienne usually found themselves bemused and a little irritated by the vacuum she and Nik made around themselves. It just was how they were.

Though as she had sometimes with Giles, she felt at times like his little project. She was painfully green when she arrived on set, with only a handful of theatre productions under her belt and very little time spent in front of a camera. Nik had been acting in film and television for almost twenty years at that point, and she welcomed his expertise with open arms. Cameras caught everything, every little mannerism and micro-expression, and she had to fight all of her stage-trained instincts to project.

Nik taught her stillness, the film actor’s greatest tool: the ability to root yourself and barely move your face or body. It sounded bizarre, but it looked great on camera, and it helped her a great deal to portray Brienne’s stoicism. She had an immense respect for him for teaching her all he had, and it had helped her career a great deal.

Sometimes, though, she wondered if his attentions to her were simply pride at her growth under his tutelage. His legacy, perhaps. They joked about it, in interviews and in private, and she wondered, at times, if that was all their relationship was.

He had been, after all, in a committed relationship to a lovely woman who he adored. How could he feel anything for her other than friendship?  She sometimes felt she must have been imagining everything, every little frisson of tension and lingering look. But, then, at other times, she knew that the heart was mysterious, nuanced. People married, but that did not keep their affections from straying, and it was often a normal, harmless thing. Human beings were human, not immune to the charms of others no matter how committed they were.

How else could she explain how she’d been in love with two very different men in two very different ways for years?

 _We can't choose who we love_. She laughed, shaking her head. _Bonkers._

The sliding glass door opened and Lena and her daughter exited the house, Teddy now dressed in a bright t-shirt and khaki shorts.

“No more paddling?” Gwen asked, and Lena shook her head.

“She’d stay in there all day if she could,” she said, watching the little girl run off to collect her toys, talking to herself softly. Lena sat down on the edge of Gwen’s chair, turning to look at her. “You seem deep in thought.”

Gwen smiled. “I was,” she said. “Just thinking back to every single interaction I’ve ever had with Nikolaj and trying to ascertain what exactly his feelings are for me.”

“Oh, Gwendoline,” she said, sighting softly.

“I can’t help it. I can’t stop thinking about him, and I _hate_ myself for it. I’m an _awful_ person. He’s just gone through probably _the_ most painful time in his life and all I can think about is, when is he going to get over it so we can be together?”

Lena laughed, quietly, and reached up to gently grasp Gwen’s arm. “You are _not_ awful,” she said, softly. “You have every right to feel the way you do. You’ve waited a long time for this, having to work with someone you can’t have? For years? It must have been hard on you.”

Gwen shrugged. “It was, on set. But then I went home to Giles and I forgot all about it. We were good for each other like that.” She sighed, deeply. “But now without him, it’s just me, sitting here. I almost want to try to get another series or film, just so I can be busy again, have something to do day in and day out.”

“Give it another month. Or two,” Lena said, encouragingly. “Then text him, see how he is. If he hasn’t texted you by then. That’s a fair amount of time, I think. You don’t have to meet up straight away, just start up a conversation again. Take it slow. You’re friends first, Gwen. Start there.”

Gwen nodded, begrudgingly agreeing. She pushed her sunglasses up onto her head. “Okay,” she said to Lena, reaching out to give her hand a squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, blushing again. “I’ve been driving myself mad.”

As if on cue, Teddy came over with her toys all neatly tucked away in her bag.

“You know, there’s a park just down the street,” Gwen said, suddenly feeling the need to get up and about. “Why don’t we take a walk before you two have to leave? There’s a little playground, too.”

“Okay!” Teddy exclaimed, literally jumping into the air. Gwen smiled. Kids were so easy to please.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have absolutely no idea if Gwen & Lena hang (but they should) or what Lena's daughter's like. This is a completely fictional representation of real people. Please don't take it like I know anything about their personal lives. Thanks


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this chapter taking so long! I had a really busy weekend with a charity event we do, and it took up all my time. But I'm back on the Gwendolaj wagon and excited to write! I am finding it is really fun and easy to write dialogue between them, so stay tuned.

Gwen took Lena’s advice, trying her best to keep busy and give him his space. She hated feeling this way, like a lovesick schoolgirl. She’d worked so hard since she was a child to maintain emotional control, and to culture an aloofness in response to the almost meteoric rise to celebrity that she’d experienced. She'd needed that to get through the endless onslaught of reporters, of press junkets and print interviews. Or people accosting her on the street on a day where she wasn't at her best, or sitting in a chair at a convention for hours signing autographs. 

But Nikolaj had, from the beginning, thrown her completely off her game. He’d come out swinging, and she had had to bob and weave to keep her head, and even after they’d reached a détente, he still could knock off her equilibrium with one well-timed comment or a particularly intense look.

When being interviewed alone, she felt quite confident, able to speak eloquently and assuredly about herself and the characters she played. In interviews with Nikolaj all bets were off. It was chaos, usually. Chaos she usually enjoyed, but it was so difficult to focus and get a coherent narrative going. And he could make her lose control so easily: leaning into her personal space, watching her with that look.

But now she was off her game again. She was mercurial, tense, absent-minded. Especially since she had literally no idea how he’d react to seeing her or speaking to her again. They were friends, sure, but she was putting a lot of eggs into a basket that she wasn’t even sure existed. It was an endless source of anxiety.

So she worked. She auditioned for anything her agent could get her, if only to have something to work on and prepare for. She did a few modelling gigs, trying to stay clear of Giles Deacon’s label for the time being. It hurt her a lot not to be part of his team anymore. She had quite enjoyed it, being both muse and partner. But it had become stale, as all partnerships often do, and neither of them were willing to compromise to keep it fresh. But she hoped the ice would thaw again. Giles was really the only one who knew how to dress her for events.

Soon a month passed. Summer waned. The weather turned cool and wet and the smell of autumn was in the air. She was doing well, was getting exercise and seeing friends and family often. She’d cut back on drinking and smoking and was feeling better than she had in years.

Two weeks into October, however, a mate on holiday in Copenhagen emailed her a story in a Danish newspaper with absolutely no context. When Gwen had inquired as to what it was, her friend had replied: _Isn’t this about Nikolaj’s wife?_

Gwen’s heart dropped into her stomach as she clicked on the link, changing the language from Danish to English. It was Nukaaka, at a banquet or some such event posing with her arm around a tall blond man who was decidedly not her husband. Ex-husband. Her pulse kicked up, her heart hammering away in her chest.

She read the article. Her new boyfriend was a philanthropist she’d met through a charity endeavour. The article tried not to insinuate that this relationship had put an end to Ms. Coster-Waldau’s marriage, but it was fairly clear to anyone with half a brain that was what had happened.

Gwen’s eyebrows shot up as she looked at the photo. The man was tall, quite a bit taller than her or Nik, with a solid build and short blond hair. He dwarfed Nukaaka, being almost a foot taller than her. He was very attractive, impeccably dressed and obviously very wealthy, and she looked very happy alongside him.

He was the complete opposite of Nikolaj: polished, vain, moneyed, robust.

 _So that was that, then,_ she thought. _Twenty years of marriage down the tubes over a tall rich bloke with a broad chest._

Well, perhaps that wasn’t fair _._ Nikolaj had been away _a lot_ during their marriage. While he’d always tried to get home for special occasions and holidays, she’d had to raise their children alone more often than not. And that was the way it had to be. Nukaaka had elected to stay back in Denmark while he worked. No one could begrudge that choice. It was her home, and their children's home and they'd been young and in school. On the other hand, had she come to stay in Belfast with the children, he could have seen them almost every day.

But it was just the way things went sometimes, she supposed. People want different things, drift apart, and then find someone new who fills the spaces that the last one opened up.

She took one look at the picture of the happy Danish couple before closing the browser tab and tossing her phone onto the sofa.

For the rest of the day she couldn’t shake the indignation she felt on Nik’s behalf, even if it was completely unwarranted. It took two to tango and he’d been more than happy to travel the globe and party with the cast and flirt with other women, including her.

But, still. He’d loved his wife very much. As far as she knew, he’d never strayed. He’d been entirely committed. And she’d just _left him_. And mere months after ending her twenty-year marriage she was already making public appearances with the man she’d left him for.

The ennui lasted several days, not letting her go. She blew off a few mates one night, electing to stay in alone, watching a film with a glass red in her hand that was not her first. It was then the urge hit her.

 _Just a text_ , she told herself. _Ask him how he is._ It had been three and a half months since the split. It was enough time to start to come to terms with it, and it was twice the time he’d given her to stew over her break-up with Giles.

She reached over to pick up her phone, navigated to messages and pressed his name. Her pulse sped up, hands starting to sweat a little. She sat there, her thumb hovering over the keyboard.

She took a breath. But then she dropped the phone back on the sofa, her heart still thumping away in her chest. Even with three glasses of wine coursing through her veins, she couldn’t summon up the courage.

Why had it suddenly become so hard? They’d texted and called at least once a week even when they weren’t working: jokey, light-hearted conversation and half-hearted insults that made her smile.

But now it seemed impossible. What could she say? How could she possibly understand what he’d been going through? Twenty years of marriage. That was half Gwen’s life. And not mention the two beautiful daughters who were still quite young. She wondered how the girls were doing. She’d only met them a few times: tall, slim, blonde wisps who were the spitting image of their father. And always smiling.

Sighing, she reached over for her glass, downing it in one go. She sat there, feeling the wine burn its way down to her belly, slowly working its way into her veins. Then she got up and filled her glass again, emptying the bottle.

She was deep into that fourth glass when her courage (and sense) finally returned to her.

“What the fuck is the matter with you?” she asked her reflection in the plate glass window. She shook her head, picking up her phone. Nikolaj was her friend. They texted, called each other. Sent little mentions over social media. They’d worked together for eight years and could work together again in the future.

He was her friend and he was going through a difficult time. Above all, that should have been enough reason to contact him.

She unlocked her phone, typed two letters, and hit send.

_Hi._

She looked at the little text bubble just sitting there. It seemed inadequate. Should she have asked him how he was? She sighed and shook her head. No. It was fine. It was a start.

When he didn’t respond right away, she tossed her phone onto the sofa beside her and pressed play on the film she was watching to distract her.

She wondered where he was, what he was doing. She knew he’d shot a movie in Canada in the spring, and had been doing one back home in Denmark as well. But apart from that, she hadn’t heard much. She’d only been able to track his movements via social media. She had a feeling he was laying low, spending some time with his girls, his last post on Instagram three weeks earlier had been a photo of the three of them together.

She pulled up the picture again and smiled. They looked so like him it was astounding. It was like they had sprung from him with very involvement from their mother. He really made lovely children.

She studied all their faces, looking for any signs of sadness, but there was none. They actually looked okay. She hoped it was true. She knew what it was like to be a vulnerable, emotional teenage girl. Something like this could upend their whole world. But she hoped it wouldn't. She wanted them to be okay.

The wine had perfused her system now, and she was quite properly drunk. She couldn’t follow the plot of the film, and had resigned herself to flicking through old photos she’d taken on the set on her phone.

Her heart ached for that time again. The post-battle feast with Peter and Dan and Nikolaj, which was some of the most fun she’d _ever_ had on set. The crazy nights that were the Battle of Winterfell, covered in sticky fake blood, real and fake snow stuck to her boots in a gummy paste.

The panic and claustrophobia as wave after wave of extras dressed as zombies ran at her. God, it had been terrifying at times. And cold, and wet when it wasn’t cold. But Nik and Daniel had been there, at each other’s sides through it all, and that made everything a little easier.

The notification slid onto the screen and she flicked it back up automatically. The Merlot perfusing her brain had made her a little slow on the uptake to the fact that someone had texted her.  Quickly, she navigated to messages and saw the little blue dot next to his name.

He’d replied.

A spike of adrenaline pushed through the wine fog, her pulse suddenly racing.

She pressed on his name, and as she looked at his reply, a soft, stupid smile came to her lips. Her body settled, a warmth spreading through it. It was just two words, but reading them made her feel like, just maybe, things would be okay.

 _Hey, Gwen_.

She started typing to respond when her phone started vibrating. Suddenly she was looking at Nikolaj’s picture—one she’d taken of him at about five in the morning on set, scruffy with messy hair and bleary eyes. It always made her laugh when she saw it, but currently it was sending jolts of panic through her wine-addled brain.

He was calling her.

She looked at his stupid face for a few interminable seconds, frozen in indecision. She couldn’t talk to him; she was way too drunk. This hadn’t been in the plan. They were only supposed to text, to get a dialogue going.

Her phone vibrated again. It would go to voicemail straight away if she didn’t answer.

So, her hand shaking slightly, she accepted the call.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I debated waiting until tomorrow for this, but I just love it so much that I have to share it w/ all y'all.

“Hey,” she answered, breathless, her voice low. Her heart was racing, her head pounding. Her stomach rebelled a little, the wine sloshing around uncomfortably in her belly. She shouldn’t be doing this, not in her emotional state. She needed control over the situation.

“Hi,” came Nikolaj’s voice, a little hesitant, quiet. Her knees nearly buckled at the sound of it, her heart aching. _God, she’d missed him so much it hurt._

“Where are you?” she asked, stupidly, unable to think of anything else.

“Home,” he said, his voice slightly hoarse. “Denmark.”

“At the house?” she asked, knowing he’d know what she meant. _At the house that used to be theirs._

“Yeah,” he answered, a little hesitantly.

She didn’t know what to say. She had a million questions to ask. But as every single one came to her, she knew she couldn’t. She didn't want to hurt him by asking him something he wasn't ready for.

“Can I ask you something?” he said, his voice cracking a little, and it broke her heart.

“Of course,” she replied.

“Please,” he started, a little desperate, “don’t ask me how I am.”

Her heart broke in two at that. But she understood. After her father’s death she had been inundated with well-wishers inquiring as to her well-being and it had not taken long before it became trite and unbearable.

“Okay,” she said, appeasing him. Then she smiled. “What are you wearing?”

He laughed. Not just a chuckle, but the full-throated roar she hadn’t heard in what felt like years. It warmed her, calmed her.

And just like that, the ice thawed and she joined him in relieved, happy laughter.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he said, finally, and her stomach clenched painfully. He sounded so desperate, like a drowning man who’d been thrown a life preserver. Gods, she was too drunk for this. Too drunk by half.

“I’ve missed you, too, you idiot. Why haven’t you been in touch?”

“I needed time,” he said, half-heartedly, not really convincing either of them. “Alone.”

“Well you sound fantastic,” she said, the sarcasm seeping in even as she tried to keep it out. “It’s easier with friends, you know?”

“I know,” he said.

“How are the girls?”

“Good, actually,” he said, sounding a little surprised. “Sometimes I think they’re doing too well. That they should be more upset, but…”

“Kids are resilient,” she said, softly.

“Yeah, yeah. I just—never mind,” he said. He cleared his throat. “How have you been?”

She laughed, though she didn’t know why. _How indeed?_ she thought.

“Okay,” she said, her head was still fuzzy. She wasn’t sobering up, not in the least. Red wine was a cruel mistress.

“That wasn’t very convincing, Gwen,” came his reply, his voice low. Her stomach tightened at his use of her name.

“It’s been hard,” she admitted. “I’m alone a lot now. It’s strange.”

He laughed, softly.

“I know exactly what you mean.”

“We’re quite a pair,” she said, looking at her reflection in the window, her long limbs sprawled across the sofa and her hair a frizzy yellow mess. She groaned.

“Are you drunk?” he asked. She laughed, hard.

“Yes,” she said. “Are you?”

“A little.” She smiled. It was more than a little, she could tell. His accent was much more pronounced, his words thick on the tongue.

“We’re so pathetic,” she said, laughing a little. “Getting drunk alone thousands of kilometres apart.”

He laughed. “Tell me about it.”

“How are you, though? Really?” She asked, after a while. “I know you’re sick of talking about it, but I’ve been making myself sick thinking about you,” she said. Then she rephrased. “About how you’re feeling, I mean.”

“I’m…I don’t know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. He sighed deeply, and took a draught from what sounded like a bottle of beer. “My…ex-wife is in Oslo for the week with her new boyfriend and I’m here, in what was once our home with my daughters, who are asleep, drinking, alone. I can’t even sleep in my own bed. I’m taking the guest room until we get this all sorted.”

“Christ,” she said, closing her eyes. “That fucking sucks.”

“It does. It does fucking suck,” he said, his voice tired. “But the thing is I can’t even be angry about it. I knew she was close with this guy. I wanted to talk to her about it, but I put it off. It’s not an easy conversation to have. So then I went to Canada for that film and I just told myself it was nothing.”

“It’s not your fault,” she said, conscious of the way her words were slurring but unable to prevent it. She was fading fast, her eyelids fluttering.

“It’s not _not_ my fault, either,” he said. “I could have tried harder.”

“She could have, too,” she said.

 She heard him sigh, and drink.

“Yeah,” he said, finally, his voice barely audible. “I’m sorry I’m such terrible company.”

“You’re not,” she said, and she was telling the truth. “I’m not exactly sparkling and gregarious, either. It’s just nice to hear your voice. I can’t—imagine what you’re going through and I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you,” he said, genuinely. “I’ve missed you, too. I really have. I almost called you a few times.”

Her breath hitched and she giggled, nervously.

“So did I,” she said. “Loads of times. But I wanted to give you your space.”

“We should hang out,” he said, unceremoniously, and her heart nearly stopped.

“I’d love that,” she said before she could stop herself. _Too soon, too soon,_ the alarm bleated in her head. She ignored it. The wine helped.

“Let’s do it, then,” he said, sounding genuinely happy for the first time in the entire telephone call. She smiled wide, her cheeks hurting.

“When?” she asked, mentally going over her schedule. “And where?”

“I don’t know,” he said, his words slurring a little. She was right, he was quite pissed. At least eight beers in if not more.

“We’re too drunk for this,” she said, and they both began to laugh, hard.

“We are!” he said between peals of laughter. Gwen couldn’t breathe, her stupid drunken brain finding his strangled words the most hilarious thing she’d ever heard.

When finally, finally, she was able to regain her composure, tears filled her eyes and her abdominals ached. It’d been so long since she laughed that hard.

“I needed that,” Nikolaj said, his voice breathless. She laughed, again.

“Me too,” she said, turning to roll off the couch. She slumped to the ground gracelessly, landing hard on one knee. She laughed, again. “Ouch. I’m sorry, Nik, but I’ve got to get to bed. I can’t—I can barely stand.”

His response was just more laughter.

“You idiot!” she shouted, with no venom in her tone whatsoever. She tried to stand as he laughed even harder.

“I’ll text you,” he finally said when he regained his composure. “When she gets back from Norway, I don’t want to be here. Maybe I’ll come to London.”

“Okay,” she said, keeping her tone even.

“I miss you, Gwen,” he said, and her heart constricted, hot tears burning at her eyes.

“Me too,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut. “Good night,” she managed.

“Night,” he said, and she quickly ended the call, tossing her phone onto the sofa. She looked at it for a few seconds before she began to cry in earnest, the wine and the emotion overcoming her.

Dropping back down onto the couch, she sobbed and sobbed, her belly heaving, her throat burning. God, she loved him. _Loved him._ Needed him, wanted him. It had never been this bad before, for _anyone._ Even her most heartbreaking teenage crushes paled in comparison to what she felt for this man.

No, this—this was something else, and it terrified her as it exhilarated her.

The tears ebbed. And eventually, her head pounding, the wine won the battle and she closed her eyes. Her last thoughts were of him, sitting alone as she was with the North Sea between them, and how much she wished he was here.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the huge break between chapters. I have been dealing with some health/personal stuff. But thanks for sticking this out with me. I'm excited to write this and see it through because I've got great ideas for future chapters.

She awoke the next morning incredibly confused, her head pounding so hard she felt as if her skull would explode. She was lying on her front, face down on the leather sofa. One of her legs had fallen off in the night and was resting on the floor, her hip aching from the awkward position. Weak early-morning light streaked in, warming her face.

She opened her eyes slowly, looking around at her surroundings. There was an empty wine glass on the coffee table with a small amount of red still left in it. The Merlot! That’d been her first mistake.

And then it all came back at once: sitting alone drinking, agonising, texting him, talking to him.

She let out a groan that turned into a dry sob. The embarrassment fell down on her like a weight, smothering her. What had she been thinking, drinking a bottle of wine on an empty stomach after not drinking for a month?

But what else could she have done? Refused his call? She’d never done it before, not intentionally.

 _And you texted him first,_ a voice in her head that sounded suspiciously like her mother told her.

The voice was right. It had been nearly three in the morning in Denmark. If he hadn’t been asleep, there was a good chance he was drinking. Really, what had she expected?

In truth she _hadn’t_ been thinking. She’d gotten way too drunk on a night when she’d already been emotionally agitated. However, while it had been a bit misguided, she’d still managed to keep a cool head. They’d had a nice conversation.

But the desperation in his voice had stuck with her. And his obvious descent into depression had affected her a lot.  

So how could she have ignored his call? He needed someone. And she’d been there. And she would in the future, no matter how she felt.

Slowly, she got her bearings, her head still pounding. Her phone was pressed into her ribcage, as she had apparently slept on it all night. Groaning, she sat up, grabbing it from the couch and checking it: 7:45 AM. No messages.

She navigated to her call history and found it. A ten minute, 34 second incoming call from Nikolaj Coster-Waldau at 1:45 AM.

She supposed it could have gone worse. She could have drunkenly professed her feelings, creating a seriously awkward situation. She’d been on the cusp: drunk, emotional, alone. But she’d thankfully had more sense than that.

It really had been lovely to just hear his voice again. God, she’d missed laughing with him. The little jabs that sounded rude to an outside observer but were instead how they showed their affection. It had been exhausting at times before, the constant back and forth, but now she found herself wanting for it. Needing it. It had become like an addiction.

But it was an addiction she’d have to try to temper. They were both ridiculously vulnerable right now. She still didn’t know how he felt. She didn’t know if he was even capable of feeling anything for anyone else right now. He’d been hurt very deeply. And he sounded desperately in need of a little fun, at the very least.

If she could remain stoic and call up some of Brienne of Tarth’s patience, it was fairly obvious that what he needed was to be around people that loved him again. She was sure his daughters were a comfort, but he had a large contingent of cast members who were also likely very concerned for his welfare.

And if it was true that he would be coming over to London at the end of the week, that meant she had to arrange some sort of get-together, if not for his sanity then for hers. The addition of several other former castmates could do to help as a buffer. She didn’t trust herself around him at this point.

So she called Lena.

“He called _you_?” Lena asked, surprised, after Gwen had explained the events of the previous night.

“Yeah,” Gwen replied. She had managed to peel herself off the sofa and was now cooking a bland breakfast of toast and eggs. “That is actually how we usually get in touch.”

“Really?” Lena asked, her tone genuinely curious. “Hmm.”

“Hmm what?” Gwen asked, flipping her scrambled eggs onto her plate.

“How often does he call?”

“I don’t know—once a month or so? Since we stopped working, anyway.”

“Wow,” Lena replied, and Gwen frowned.

“Is that—a lot?” She sat down with her plate, making a face at her eggs. Her stomach was still a little unsettled from the night before.

“Well, yeah. I think he’s called me once in the past year.”

“Oh,” she said. She hadn’t really thought about it. She’d just assumed everyone was still chatting all the time.

“What do you guys talk about?”

Gwen laughed. “Why—I don’t know. Nothing of substance. The same things we talk about in person.”

“Huh,” Lena replied, sounding surprised.

“Anyway,” Gwen said, trying to keep on task.

“Right,” her friend replied. “So, what did he say?”

Gwen sighed, looking out the window at the rare autumn sun. “I’ve never heard him sound like that. I mean, he was drunk, but—”

“How drunk?”

“Um…do you remember that time in Spain when he and Kit were singing karaoke?”

“Yes! Wow. That was something. So he was pissed.”

“Close to it. And getting progressively more pissed as the call continued. I mean, I shouldn’t really talk considering my own state of inebriation, but, yes. He sounded awful.”

Lena sighed heavily at the other end of the line. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“Yeah. He says the girls are doing well, so that’s one good thing.”

Lena hummed in agreement. “Well, I think you’re right. I think we should find a place for all of us to get together for a night. Just one night, though.”

“Yes,” Gwen concurred. “I think a three-day piss-up would be a poor idea at this point.”

“I’ll make some calls. I’m not busy at the mo’.”

“Thank you,” Gwen replied.

“So, who’s on the list, do you think?” Lena asked.

Gwen sighed. She wasn’t good at this kind of thing. Lena was more of a social butterfly than she was. Gwen had spent way too much time studying scripts and practicing fights sequences to really get involved with the relationship drama on set.

“Well, Rory for sure,” she started, trying to think what the rest of cast said they’d be doing. “I don’t know if he’ll come, but he’s fun. Peter, obviously, if he’s in town. You. Daniel. Emilia. Rose and Kit, but he’s probably busy. Emilia probably is too.”

“Conleth.”

“Yes, definitely. Tell him he _has_ to come as per me.”

“I will definitely tell him that.”

“Oh! Iain and Kristofer? Carice. Sophie and Maisie? They’re probably busy but I don’t want to leave anyone out. Oh, Joe and Jacob, too, for sure. Nathalie. Isaac. Liam! I forgot Liam. And Richard.”

“I think that’s good, Gwen. That’s the whole cast.”

“And Pilou, too! I forgot about him. He’s probably back in Denmark, though.”

“Okay,” Lena said. Gwen could hear the faint scratching of a pencil on paper from the other end. “I’ll see if I can get a day next week when most of them can be here. Then we’ll go from there.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep breath. “Thank you so much for this, Lena. I couldn’t do it on my own.”

“He’s my friend, too, Gwendoline. It really is my pleasure.”

“That’s sweet of you,” she said, smiling.

“But _you_ need to text him. Make sure he’s actually coming over here. And that he’s available and not working.”

“I will, I will. In a little bit. It’s still early.”

“It’s an hour ahead in Denmark.”

“You’re incorrigible,” Gwen told her, smiling. “I will text him. After breakfast and a shower. When I feel human again.”

“Sounds like a plan, then, darling. Text me when you know for sure.”

“I will do.”

“Wait…are we keeping this a surprise from him?” Lena asked. Gwen frowned.

“Should we? Don’t you think that’ll be too much? He’s just expecting a quiet dinner and then half the cast of Game of Thrones jumps out from behind the bar?”

“Or you could have the quiet dinner beforehand and then surprise him later.”

“Yes, we could do that,” Gwen replied reticently. “But—and to be frank—I don’t trust us right now. Really. I’m—we’re both very lonely and sad and pathetic and, Lena, I really don’t want to do anything either of us will regret.”

“Understood. Well, I could come along. Act as a bit of a buffer. I could show up half way through, pretend I was in the area? Block the c—”

“That might work,” Gwen interrupted, shutting down any talk of anyone’s cock. Lena giggled. “Thank you so much for offering.”

“Well, it will be nice to see him. Have a quiet chat before everything gets loud. Anyway, it’s a surprise, then. For the time being.”

“Yes,” Gwen replied. “Until further notice.”

“Okay,” she said. “Hey—you know what?

“What?”

“Peter _is_ in town. I totally forgot. He’s doing that play, remember?”

“Oh yeah! I told him I’d go. I totally forgot.”

“Well you still can. He’s renting a place and he’s here by himself.”

“A big place?”

“Big enough.”

“You think he’ll let us take over for a night?”

“I think he will for Nikolaj.”

“That would be fantastic. Let me know what he says.”

“Okay. We’ll chat later. Take care of yourself, Gwen.”

“I will do.”

“Ta-ta!”

“Bye.”

She hung up, placing the phone down on the countertop. She looked down at her rapidly cooling breakfast that she hadn’t touched, and steeled herself. If she was going to help organise this get-together and help out her friend, she needed her strength. Which meant ingesting the protein and carbohydrates on her plate, rinsing the wine residue off her body and sorting out her fucking life.

She groaned, and took a bite of toast. _Not bad, actually,_ she thought. She swallowed it, and found it agreed with her stomach quite well.

Maybe she could actually do this.

An hour later, freshly fed, showered, and dressed, and feeling infinitely better than she had earlier, she picked up her phone to text Nikolaj, only to find a notification of a text from _him_. She froze. She must have missed it when she was in the shower.

She took a breath and opened up the message.

_So sorry about last night. Must have sounded so pathetic._

She smiled, unable to prevent herself from reading it in his voice.

_Was serious about London, though. Booked a flight for Sunday. I have a few work things but we should get together._

She smiled even wider. He hadn’t been full of shit. He really did want to see her.

She began to respond, editing her message several times before she finally got it right.

_You did but I’m used to it. I was pleased to hear from you. Glad you’re not dead. And I would love that. How about dinner? Monday or Tuesday?_

She stared at her response for what felt like a full minute, then pressed send. She looked at the text bubble, rereading it several times. It was fine, she decided. Not too eager. She sounded like she’d always sounded. She laid her phone down carefully on the coffee table, hoping a little that he’d reply right away. He didn’t. She shrugged. It usually took him a couple hours.

Then it really hit her. _He’s coming to London,_ she thought. _In four days._

Her heart started hammering away in her chest, the excitement and anxiety spreading through her body.

She couldn’t help the big smile that broke out on her face, and the giggle she let out.

She was such a soppy, besotted fool.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my muse and beta, Arwen! This chapter is dedicated to you! You've truly helped me get this thing written. (Please let me know if you think there's anything I should change)
> 
> This chapter is also dedicated to Sembell, whose Moving Forward story inspired me greatly to write this one.

He texted her back a few hours later, just as she was arriving to an audition at the BBC for a recurring part on a popular period drama. She’d prepared quite well for it, despite her agent’s ambivalence over the fact that there were no women that tall in 19th-century Britain. Gwen had politely agreed to disagree.

She’d texted Lena his travel plans before she left the house and she’d messaged back that she’d actually managed to get a few people for next Friday. That heartened her. She was starting to get excited about their little get-together, about being around the cast again, telling old war stories and catching up.

She sat down in the waiting room and took out her phone, smiling as she read what he wrote.

_You’re so mean. I missed it. But dinner would be great. I’m free Tuesday night. Where are we going?_

She wracked her brain, trying to think of a place. They needed at least semi-privacy. Something upscale but not posh. Just quiet and out of the way of prying eyes. The last thing she needed was some poorly-researched Daily Mail story with blurry photos of the two of them dining together, implying they were more than friends, with crude references to the length of her legs, the amount of time since they’d split with their partners, and with several words in the headline inexplicably in all capital letters.

She shuddered, imagining it and the texts from her mother she’d receive if it was published, and started typing her reply.

_Just keeping you on your toes. Tuesday’s fine with me. I don’t know yet. I don’t really want to be seen. Have you got any ideas?_

The audition went surprisingly well, though she saw the look in their eyes when she walked in the room. Even in flat shoes she was still a few inches taller than anyone else they’d seen.        

But what could she do? This was her body. It wasn’t up to _her_ to figure it out where to fit her into the storyline. She’d read well for the part and that would have to be enough.

As the adrenaline faded after the always-grueling audition process, her anxiety returned. She’d taken the tube, not keen to be driving in her state of mind, so she had time to wander.

She walked into Holland Park and grabbed lunch, meandering around for a while, window-shopping and taking a few photos with fans who recognised her. Hearing people tell her how much Brienne’s story had inspired them always lifted her spirits.

She roamed through the park, the earthy smells of nature calming her frayed nerves. She was in a constant state of agitation these days.

Life with Giles had been so well-ordered and domestic, with each of them content in their respective careers and attending to those responsibilities most of the time. They had trusted each other implicitly, and they’d both been given the freedom to go out on their own whenever they needed or wanted to.

And then when they came together at home in the evenings, it was lovely and restorative. They had truly enjoyed each others’ company, telling each other about their days and listening attentively. He was a calm, kind, beautiful man, and he balanced out her often-dynamic personality perfectly. They had had a lovely thing going together, and he’d saved her from herself many, many times.

But now life was chaotic, unpredictable. There was no one to go home to at night other than her own thoughts, which had been increasingly torturous since Nikolaj’s divorce. There was no anchor anymore, no foundation to her life, and it scared the shit out of her.

And while she’d spent the majority of her twenties in this rootless state, she wasn’t keen on heading back down that path. Bedsits and flatmates from hell. Working terrible jobs for hardly any money. Drunk a lot of the time, sleeping with questionable men and exploring her exhibitionist side. It had been an experience, and not necessarily a negative one. She’d learned a lot.

But she was too old for any of that shit, and she certainly wasn’t hurting for cash anymore. Her body and mind craved stability and peace. Maybe she’d gotten soft with Giles, she thought. She still should’ve been able to make a life for herself on her own at her age. Yet she felt as though she was slowly spiralling back into her old ways.

Really, it was just nice to have someone to share your innermost thoughts with, the ones that no journalist, no fan, no castmate, or crew member knew. _Maybe that was it_ , she thought. Fame was a heavy burden to bear. And as an actor one had the responsibility to be accessible to one’s fans. Even more so as an actor on a one of the most popular television series perhaps of all time.

Instagram and Twitter had made public figures more accessible than they’d ever been at any time in recent history. She was still debating whether or not that was a good thing. It was certainly difficult when you _were_ that public figure, though it could be very rewarding as well. Little lovely messages from fans, saying things that were impossibly nice and positive could do wonders to raise one’s spirits on a particularly bad day. It was lovely to have that support from people she’d never even met.

On the other hand, the online sphere could often be less kind than speaking face-to-face. Journalists and fans alike could be incredibly negative, crossing boundaries and saying rude things that one just had to ignore to stay sane. But even then, it was difficult. Lena, Maisie, and Sophie had had horrible experiences with abuse online and Gwen’d had a few experiences with it. She just tried to disregard it.

Some people could weather that alone, that pressure and responsibility, but she didn’t think she was one of those people. Giles had been such a comfort. He’d been her rock, grounded and modest and lovely and always there for her. And while their relationship had come to an end, she missed that. Any normal person who faced the kind of pressures she faced needed someone in their life to keep their feet on the ground and remind them how to be a human being.

The possibility of a relationship with Nikolaj loomed large over her future, even as she still had no clue whether he was even willing or capable of being her partner. At this point, it didn’t matter. Her brain was going to do it anyway. It needed to compute the parameters.

She couldn’t help but wonder whether they’d be compatible. Sure, they’d spent a lot of time together, years and years working in awful conditions at their most vulnerable, and they’d weathered it fairly well. Nikolaj was an easy-going man, not quick to anger at all and usually quite patient. However, unlike Giles, he could never be described as calm.

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau was an endless ball of energy. He was curious, opinionated, fastidious. He was stubborn as a mule and didn’t care who knew. Gwen wondered sometimes if that was why they got along so well. They were similar in a lot of ways. She’d only met Nukaaka a few times, but it had been her calm, diplomatic smile that Gwen remembered. She suspected that Giles and Nikolaj’s ex-wife had had several traits in common.

But as mercurial and impossible as he could be, he could also display some of the sweetest, kindest behaviour she’d ever witnessed in an adult male. He was smitten with his daughters, never decrying the fact that he was the only man in the house, and had never expressed the desire to have had a son. He could be so lovely sometimes, always doing his best to make sure she was safe and feeling well on set. And he was eternally her advocate, speaking on her behalf and standing up for her after any perceived slight.

As well, he could be such a nerd: so pedantic and thorough it drove most of the people around him mad. He cared way too much about the details of things, having to know why everything was the way it was, and how everything worked. He was an endless fount of knowledge about practical things, knowing how to get himself out of almost any situation. He wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty, either, telling stories about fixing mechanical issues and plumbing situations at home with his bare hands.

He was the only one who would engage in discussions about the mundane and silly things that interested her and made her laugh. They could chat for hours about which animals they preferred or memories from their childhoods, about existentialism and the absurdity of life.

And acting. They talked about the craft so often it was like a master class every day on set with him.

Nikolaj wasn’t afraid of speaking to the larger issues, either. They’d discussed climate change, politics, cultural differences in their respective countries. History was a favourite subject of the both of them, as well as feminist and human rights issues. He was a passionate advocate for the welfare of others, of the planet.

It was true he could be difficult man, but being his friend was worth the frustration. Truly, he was really one of the most fascinating men Gwen had ever met.

So how could she know how it would be between the two of them? They both were compatible in areas and incompatible in others. As well, she had a feeling the way he acted on set was entirely different from how he did in the comfort of his own home. She suspected he was a completely different person when domesticated, and she and that Nikolaj could fit together incredibly well.

But would they be able to pull it off? To be around each other every moment of the day that they weren’t working? Or would they come together, burn brightly for a while and fizzle out when they both realised how poorly suited they were?

She shook her head. How could she possibly know? She would drive herself mad thinking like this. It was something that would need to be tried first.

Then, suddenly, she found herself at the southern border of Hyde Park, having walked the entirety of it while deep in thought. And then her phone vibrated twice in her pocket. She had text messages.

It was Nikolaj. A smile came to her lips unbidden as she read the lines of text.

_You don’t want to be seen with me?_

_I know what you mean. I’ll find a place & make reservations. It’ll be a surprise!_

She laughed, again reading the entirety of the message in his voice. _This has to be enough,_ she thought as she formulated a response. _Two people who enjoy each other’s company, that have affection for each other and are attracted to each other._

 _Just see where it goes,_ she told herself.

She typed out her reply and sent the messages.

_I’m afraid to be judged on the company I keep._

_Thanks for understanding. And you know I love surprises! I can’t wait to see you._

She made a face at the texts after sending them. She sounded a little keen. But then, she was. She was excited to see a friend she hadn’t seen in _months_ who she’d worked with extensively over the past eight years. She shrugged, and dropped her phone back into her pocket.

Crossing the street, she walked south into Knightsbridge. She was only blocks away from one of her favourite haunts, and she needed a calming environment right now.

She entered the Victor and Albert Museum ten minutes later and all her worries fell away.

μ

She took the tube home after, feeling entirely better. Five minutes after walking in the door, eager to see how it was going, she called Lena to check in on the party planning.

“How did it go?” Lena asked, right away.

“Fine, fine. You know,” she rolled her eyes. “I’m enormous, whatever.”

“Did they say something?”

“They didn’t have to.”

Lena groaned in sympathy. “Well, don’t write if off just yet. I’m sure you were marvelous.”

“I was really good,” she agreed, smiling.

“Well, I have good news,” Lena started.

Gwen’s heart soared. “Yes!”

“Peter said yes to us taking over his rented home, but he asks that you remember that it is in fact, rented.”

“Well I don’t think there’s going to be a brawl. It’s just going to be a quiet, sit-down, wine-and-cheese-type soirée. I want everyone to be able to actually speak to each other and catch up.”

“Right, I agree. There’s more good news, if you’re interested.”

“I definitely am.”

“Okay. So, I called almost everyone. The entire cast from this season. Talked to…nine people. Left messages for the rest. And—okay, so, Peter’s in, obviously, but he can only do the Friday night. So I spoke to Emilia, actually, who is totally in for the Friday.”

“Yes! Oh, that’s great. She just lights up the room.”

“She’s gorgeous. Okay, and Rory I talked to, he’s back in Glasgow but he’s going to try to make it.”

“Great. Wow, that’s better news than I was expecting. I thought everyone would want a break from each other for at least a year.”

“Are you joking? Everyone was so positive. They’re all excited. I’ve got more people.”

“Ooh,” Gwen said, “just one second.” She grabbed a pad of paper out of the drawer and wrote down Emilia, Rory and Peter’s names. “Okay, go.”

“Daniel is 100% in, and in those exact words.”

Gwen laughed, writing down his name. “Oh, thank the lord. I miss him so much.”

“And both Joe and Jacob are in. They were actually having lunch together when I called Joe.”

“Oh, were they? That’s hilarious,” Gwen said, putting their names down. “That’s so sweet they hang out!”

“Isaac’s in town and he’ll be there.”

“Awesome! Wow, I’m just—”

“And John Bradley is in,” Lena said.

“Oh, John! I forgot him. Thanks for remembering. Okay, that’s great.”

“Hannah’s another one you forgot, but don’t worry, I called her. She can’t make it but sends her regards.”

“That’s too bad, but thanks again for remembering.”

“And Conleth said that if Gwen says he has to be there, he will definitely be there.”

“Aw, Conleth! Oh, I can’t wait to see him.” Her face was starting to hurt from the broad smile plastered on it. “Wow! So that’s nine people we’ve got already for Friday? Oh my god.” She laughed, suddenly joyful. She hadn’t expected such an enthusiastic response.

“Nine people, not including the two of us and Nikolaj. And I did leave messages for Kit, Iain, Sophie, Maisie, Ben…Crompton—”

“Oh, another one I forgot! Damn.”

“—Carice, Kristopher, Liam, Richard and Pilou. And I know that at least half of those people are currently in London so I don’t anticipate it being a _huge_ deal to get them to come over for free food and conversation on a Friday night.”

“That’s great,” Gwen said. “Again, Lena, I can’t thank you enough.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure, Gwendoline. I’m quite good at it, actually. D’you think I should I try my hand at event planning?”

“And leave the acting world bereft of a legend?” Gwen asked.

Lena laughed, affecting an RP accent. “You’re right, as ever, Ms. Christie.”

“So, free food? We’re going to cater it?” Suddenly tired, Gwen walked over to the sofa and collapsed onto it in a huff.

“I’m thinking yes. Hors d’oeuvres, in the beginning and then we’ll get something in. Indian or Thai. I don’t know what everyone likes.”

“And alcohol?”

“Well, everyone can just bring their own. I love Nikolaj but not enough to pay for the amount of liquor you know these people can drink.”

Gwen laughed. “I feel the same way. They’re like bottomless pits.” She took a big, deep breath, a smile coming to her face. “I’m actually starting to look forward to this.”

“Me too!” Lena said, laughing. “I miss everyone! I haven’t seen them in ages.”

“I know. This is going to be good for all of us, I think. It’s nice to be actually excited about something and not just anxious that it’s coming up.”

“Right?” Lena asked, laughing.

“That’s actually kind of sad.” Gwen said, after a few seconds.

“It is,” Lena said. “But that’s adulthood I suppose.”

“I guess,” Gwen replied. She sighed, deeply. “Okay, so I need to order something to eat because it’s six o’clock and I’m starving and I don’t want to cook. So, I’ll let you go, but again you have my eternal gratitude.”

“And your firstborn?”

“You may not! _I_ need my firstborn.” Lena cackled, and Gwen smiled. “You’re mad.”

“I am! And I’m also starving so I best go and feed my poor children because they can’t feed themselves, apparently.”

“Is that how it is when you’re a mum? You just have to do everything?”

“Not always. But, yes, most of the time. They’re still young and I don’t mind it, really. I’ve missed so much time with them.”

Gwen smiled. “That’s sweet.”

“And it helps when you have a partner,” Lena said, her voice betraying nothing despite the fact that Gwen knew she and Dan had split months ago.

“Duly noted,” Gwen said, trying to keep Nikolaj’s stupid face out of her head. She sighed “Right! Well, I’ll check in with you tomorrow. Thank you _again_ , and have a lovely evening!”

“I will do,” Lena said. “Good night, Gwen.”

“’Night,” Gwen replied, ending the call.

She stretched out on the sofa, incredibly tempted to just curl up and sleep for ten to twelve hours, but her growling stomach protested.

Groaning, she pulled out her phone and ordered a takeaway, scowling at the twenty-minute delivery time.

She turned over on her side, looking out at the waning day. She’d accomplished a lot today, though it didn’t feel like it. She was starting to come to terms with the fact that perhaps the phase of her life would not be as productive or as lucrative as the previous phase. There would likely not be any more Star Wars films in her future, nor Game of Thrones spin-offs, despite the fans’ insistence.

But she still got scripts, from time to time, though most of them were shit. But that would improve once she built up her repertoire.

Maybe she’d just flit around, from role to role, like most proper thesps did these days, theatre and film and high-brow television. Modelling gigs and whatever else they asked her for. She shrugged. _What was wrong with that?_ she asked herself. _Loads of actors spend their whole careers doing that. You were just lucky._

She nodded. Her internal monologue was right. Now the real fight began. Finding meaningful roles in an industry bent on pretending women over six feet tall didn’t exist. She sighed. She could do it. If Emilia Clarke could suffer two catastrophic brain bleeds during the filming of the show and still remain one of the loveliest people Gwen’d ever met, she could do this. She _would_.

Her phone buzzed insistently in her hand and she brightened, thinking it was the food. But instead she found a text message from Nikolaj Coster-Waldau.

_Reservation made! You are probably dying of anticipation._

She smiled, widely. He could be so _sweet_ sometimes. She took a deep breath, the affection that she'd tried to keep at bay at all day suddenly overwhelming her. _This is enough_ , she thought. The two of them, making each other laugh and smile. Being lovely to each other. They’d figure out the rest later.

_I’m breathless with expectation. Tingling with it. I think of nothing else._

She smiled at the message, too ravenous with various appetites and utterly exhausted, to give a whit about propriety at the moment. Nikolaj could and would interpret the message in whatever way he wished.

And it _was_ true. She truly couldn’t wait to see where he’d chosen, and to sit down across from him for the first time in ages.

Her phone buzzed and the doorbell rang almost simultaneously and she almost cheered. Her food was here.

 _Oh, thank Christ,_ she thought, getting up. She was famished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is long and strong, and introspective AF. Sorry to all those who had expected a meet-up. I'm dragging this shit OUT. I want it to be as realistic as possible. But despair not, because they WILL meet up and it will be fabulous.
> 
> Oh and if anyone is wondering, the V&A bit was inspired by this video: https://youtu.be/WeHKhAjlmLU


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew! This one took a lot out of me. It's been a bit of a rough week for me, but thank you for all your comments. They truly have helped me keep on writing.
> 
> And to my beta & pal Arwen: again, thank you so much! I wouldn't have been able to get this done without your input, and inspiration. It's been a huge help. ❤️ Working collaboratively has improved this story greatly!!

By the end of the week, Lena had managed to get confirmation from Kit, Iain and Maisie for Nikolaj’s Friday get-together. Sophie and Rose would both be in Los Angeles and had sent their best wishes along, crushed they couldn’t make it. Carice was back in Australia with Guy and their son and regretfully sent her regards.   

By Saturday, Ben Crompton and Liam Cunningham RSVPed. Richard Dormer, back shooting a film in Belfast, apologetically informed them he couldn’t make it. Kristopher and Pilou were both back in Scandinavia, but promised they would do their best to make it in. In three days, Lena had gotten a hold of the entire cast, and now, suddenly, their little party had eighteen confirmed attendees.

“I can’t believe it,” Gwen told her over the phone late Saturday afternoon after the last person on their list had been accounted for.

“I am very impressed with them, I won’t lie,” Lena replied. “It’s good to know we’ve got this massive group of people who’ve got our backs.”

“It is really comforting,” Gwen said, smiling. She’d spent the day cleaning her flat, which, though not her favourite activity, had helped her to keep her mind off Nikolaj’s impending arrival. In less than 24 hours, his plane would be landing at Heathrow. The thought of it left her buzzing with anticipation and occasional nausea.

They’d been playfully texting the past couple of days, back to their usual fare of inane banter and poorly-feigned antagonism. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d smiled this much, her facial muscles straining to express the joy she felt each time she checked her phone and saw his name there. Then, still grinning, she’d type a reply that any other person she knew would find rude.

But not Nikolaj. He loved it.

While their texting relationship was back to normal, Gwen knew being in physical proximity to him was an entirely different kettle of fish. She hadn’t seen him since April, a six-month absence that was one of the longest periods they’d been away from each other since she was cast on Game of Thrones.

And in that time, he’d learned his wife of nearly 21 years had fallen for someone else. He’d then divorced said wife, spending several months working through the grief over the loss of that relationship. And all while living in the same home as her. She imagined it had to have been one of the most trying times of his life.

And it hadn’t been the happiest year for Gwen, either, what with having to come to terms with living alone after a six-year relationship she had hoped would stand the test of time. Then dealing with ending her seven-year tenure as Brienne, a role that had been much more than a job to her. And then, the confusion and emotional upheaval caused by the resurgence of her feelings for Nikolaj, who she'd been unable to contact due to his aforementioned divorce.

So how could they just take up where they left off? Have a quiet, platonic dinner speaking about light, safe topics as they used to? It would be dishonest, unhealthy. But getting deep was never really in their repertoire, not unless they were quite uninhibited. And Gwen was planning to keep her wits about her, putting a two-glass maximum on wine for herself that day, even if she knew sticking to that while in Nikolaj’s presence would be incredibly difficult.

“So you still want me to come along on Tuesday?” Lena said, breaking her out of her reverie. “Or at least barge in once the two of you start making eyes at each other as ever?”

“We do not—do that, Lena,” Gwen said, rolling her eyes.

“You very much do,” Lena said, giggling a little.

“We do not.”

“It’s like there’s a bubble around the two of you.” Gwen pursed her lips. “I’m not the only one who noticed.”

“What? Who?” she asked, suddenly incredulous. “Did someone say something?” Her voice had risen at least an octave.

“Oh, darling, everyone noticed. But no one ever talked about it. Well, not unless they were exceedingly intoxicated.”

“People like who?”

“Most of them,” Lena said, and Gwen’s heart rate spiked. “But not in a suggestive way! Calm down. They weren’t implying anything. I think they were just curious, thought it was cute. And weird. They could tell you two were attracted to each other.”

Gwen scowled, her thoughts going back to that time. It truly wasn’t much of a surprise. She and Nikolaj had cast such a long shadow with their antics that she was sure there would have been talk about them.

That people gossiped about them wasn’t what was irking her. It was the fact that he had been married, and she had been in a long-term, committed relationship at the time. She didn’t want people thinking anything had been going on on set. If anything happened between them now—she shook her head. Nothing had happened between them, not then, not now.

Not yet.

She took a deep breath to calm herself. _Water under the bridge_.

“Well, that’s interesting,” Gwen said, trying and failing to sound aloof.

“You’re upset,” Lena replied.

“No, no, I’m not, really. I just don’t want people thinking that we were—”

“No one thought that, Gwendoline,” Lena told her. “They all knew you were both above reproach.”

“Are you sure? All of them?”

“Gwen!” Lena chastised. “Give it up. No one’s going to blab, there was nothing going on, and even if rumours start, who cares? The press and the fan gossip is just that. You have to stop caring about what people are going to think. Because if the two of you do—become a thing, they _will_ have opinions. And you’re just going to have to ignore them.”

Gwen sighed. “You’re right,” she said. “I apologise. I just—he’ll be here in—” she checked the time on her phone “—sixteen hours.”

“So what? You have spent entire days with each other, for weeks on end. This is nothing. A dinner, just like we used to have in Spain and in Croatia. You two have been to how many awards shows together? Just be yourself.” Gwen sighed, heavily, slumping back against the sofa. “Now, you didn’t answer my question about Tuesday,” Lena said.

“I haven’t a clue. I guess I’ll have to play it by ear. I don’t even know where he’s taking me.”

“I’ll call you. At a certain time. You say you have to answer, slip out, take the call, tell me how it’s going and then we’ll decide from there.”

“I think that could work.”

“Good. Now, go and meditate or do some yoga or masturbate or something because you’re driving me mad.”

“Lena!” she yelped, her face colouring instantly.

“Seriously, Gwen, your sexual frustration is _palpable._ ”

“I know,” she said, trying and failing to keep her mind off of Nikolaj the last time she saw him, with a little bit of extra weight on him and that good colour in his skin. She cleared her throat.

“You’re thinking about him naked right now, aren’t you?” Lena asked, and Gwen laughed, hard. For the first time in a while.

“Maybe,” she retorted. “But it’s not just that. It’s everything!”

“I know, I know. But you know also once he gets here, everything will be fine. Right?”

“Yes,” she replied, slightly sullenly. “Most likely.”

“Good,” Lena said again. “Now I’m going to have to go, but ring me if anything comes up, okay? I’ll sort out the catering and all the logistics with Peter and we’ll talk later, okay?”

“Okay,” Gwen said, feeling absolutely not that. “Goodbye.”

“Bye, darling,” Lena said. And then she was gone, the line dead. Gwen dropped the phone away from her ear, her body and brain still humming with tension.

She still couldn’t believe the others had been talking about them. Especially since she and Nikolaj had spent the second and most of the third completely separate from the rest of the cast.

But then there was Croatia with Natalie and Pedro and Indira, and Belfast, for the Riverrun scenes with Daniel and Jerome, and then Spain for the Dragon Pit, with nearly every single main cast member all at the same hotel. That had been a raucous time. And then, of course, the final season with the battle and its aftermath, involving almost everyone except Lena and Pilou.

So she was starting to understand now. The whole cast had seen them interact, at one point or another.

It was no wonder there’d been whispers and innuendoes. People got curious when two heterosexual people of the opposite sex spent so much time together. Even more so when they chatted and laughed and teased each other constantly. They wondered if there was more than met the eye.

But Gwen was surprised. All she’d heard from people was that everyone thought she and Nikolaj hated each other. But she supposed once one realised that that was just their weird dynamic, their affection for each other became fairly obvious.

But it was just that, affection and respect. At the time, anyway. And she was certain that none of the people she’d worked with had actually believed that there was anything untoward going on. She hoped, anyway. Fervently. For Giles’s sake and Nukaaka’s and the girls.

Lena was right. She needed to do something. She couldn’t sit in her pristine home alone staring at the walls and overthinking everything as was her wont. She was wired—on fire with energy.

She got off the sofa, heading to her room to change into a suitable outfit, then grabbed her trainers and a baseball cap. She was going for a run. She hadn’t gone in months, but tonight was the perfect evening to start up again.

She laced up her trainers, then pulled her cap down to cover her face and bounded out the door, locking it behind her.

μ

 

When she returned, red-faced and winded, her muscles like jelly and her knees aching, she felt entirely better. She toed off her shoes and trudged up the stairs, shedding her jacket and hat and collapsing onto the sofa.

She’d missed that, she truly had. Feeling the wind on her face, the burn in her legs as the scenery whipped by. She’d felt quite at peace, out there, in the dwindling twilight. Thoughts of the coming week were gone, replaced by an endorphin rush that left her mind pleasurably empty.

Even now, with her lungs still burning and her calves aching, she felt like she’d exorcised something from her. She felt lighter, the tension gripping her for the past weeks and months lessened and a deep relaxation having set in.

She had had to admit she’d spent much less time in the gym since the show had ended. It had been hard to fit it in, what with moving flats, auditions and gigs; the piecemeal way her career worked these days. She’d gotten soft, let her hard-earned muscles wither.

Well, she couldn’t afford to do that any longer. She wanted a family, which meant running around after children for at least the next eighteen years. She wasn’t getting any younger, either. She’d need her strength, and need the exercise to hold the years at bay.

She rolled over onto her back, grimacing at the pain it caused. She groaned, sitting up with some difficulty. Her muscles, unaccustomed to being used in this way, were beginning to seize up, and she had to get to the shower.

She hoisted herself up off the couch and headed toward the bathroom, grabbing a couple of towels.

After the shower, she felt almost herself again. Everything tingled pleasantly now, her breathing no longer painful. For the first time in weeks she actually felt calm, serene even. She didn’t even feel the need for a cigarette.

Her stomach rumbled, reminding her just how late it was getting. The sun had set some time ago, the sky outside glowing a bright pinkish-orange.

She sighed. She truly needed to learn to cook. All these takeaways she’d been ordering were undoing any good this newfound running kick was going to provide. But a quick check told her there was nothing in the refrigerator or cupboards that could constitute a healthy meal.

So, resigning herself, she grabbed her phone and put in an order at her favourite Indian place. It was then she’d realised that Nikolaj hadn’t texted her back. She’d sent him a message before she called Lena, inquiring as to whether he was getting excited about London.

Frowning, she navigated to messages to see whether he’d replied, and that was when her phone blew up, vibrating rhythmically in her hand. And to her horror she saw that stupid picture of his face again.

He was calling her.

 _Why?_ She asked herself. Why couldn’t she just have a quiet evening, before everything—

She groaned, and accepted the call, slowly bringing the phone up to her ear.

“Hello?” she asked.

“He’s here,” Nikolaj’s voice came through, almost a whisper. She froze, instantly alarmed.

“Who is? Are you all right?”

“I’m fine,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Sorry. Hi, Gwen. It’s just—Stensgaard, he’s at the house.”

It took her a second for the name to register. Then she remembered the tall man standing next to Nukaaka in the photo she’d seen online. _Mikkel_ , she remembered. _Mikkel Stensgaard._

“Did you talk to him?”

“I had to!” Nik said, sounding more agitated than she heard him in recent memory. “She wasn’t supposed to be here for two more hours. They just came in the door and I had to go and shake his hand and make small talk. What was I supposed to do?”

“There was nothing you could do,” Gwen said, still trying to make sense of the situation. “Are the girls there?”

“Safina is here. She’s talking with him right now.”

“Where are you?”

“In the bedroom. I had to leave. He’s invited us all out for ice cream,” he said, his tone incredulous.

“You should go,” Gwen said, softly.

“I don’t think I can. I don’t want to say something I’m going to regret.”

Gwen sighed. “I’m so sorry,” she said, trying to keep the pity out of her voice. “I know how hard this is for you.”

“It’s so fucking hard,” he said, sighing deeply. He sounded completely exhausted. “I know I should try to be supportive, but—”

“You’re doing really well,” Gwen said. “I don’t know how you’ve stuck in there for so long.”

“For the girls!” he said. “They have to think that I’m fine with everything. I don’t want them getting upset.”

“Don’t you think it’s better if they know how you feel?”

He was silent for a few seconds, then she heard him grunt softly as he sat down on something, probably the bed.

“I don’t know,” he said, tiredly.

Then Gwen heard a knock on the other end. “Just a second,” he said softly into the phone.

She listened intently as she heard him open the bedroom door. She heard Safina’s voice say something in Danish. She was speaking softly, almost apologetically.

Nikolaj responded happily, though it rang false in Gwen’s ears, even with the language barrier.

Then it sounded like she asked him a question, to which he responded in the negative. They conversed back and forth for a few seconds, Nikolaj’s comparatively upbeat tone contrasted by the obvious concern in his daughter’s voice.

“Nej, nej,” she heard him say, finally. “I’m okay. Have fun,” he said, in English.

“Okay,” Gwen could hear Safina say. “Bye.” Then they both exchanged a few words in Danish that sounded like “Jeg elsker dig,” or _I love you_ , if Gwen was right. She’d heard him say it enough on set while speaking to his family on the phone.

Then the door closed again, and Nikolaj’s voice came into her ear.

“She’s going with them,” he said.

“I gathered that. She’s worried about you,” Gwen said. “I could hear it in her voice.”

Nikolaj flounced back down on the bed with a groan. “I know,” he said. He took a big breath before he spoke again. “But I will be fine. I just need to get out of here. Have some fun. Get laid.”

Gwen’s pulse spiked at that, an unpleasant stab coursing through her. She laughed, nervously.

“Okay,” she said, her tone neutral.

“I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly contrite. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t—”

“No,” Gwen said, grimacing. “It’s well within your rights to do—that, if you wish. I’m sure it’s been a while.”

“It has,” he said, a little awkwardly. “I mean, I’m sure it has for you, too.”

Her mouth literally dropped open. “Why are we talking—”

“Sorry,” he said.

“No,” she conceded softly after a few seconds, trying to calm her racing heart. “You’re right.” She hoped she was imagining the waver in her voice.

“How long?”

“Nikolaj!” she chided, and he laughed. She laughed with him, in spite of herself. “I think—you can do the math on that.”

“Really? You mean you haven’t—”

“No! And again, not that it’s _any_ of your business.”

“I just thought—”

“Okay, who exactly did you think I would be—”

“I don’t know, it’s just, it _has_ been a while.”

“Can we talk about _anything_ else please? I want to cheer you up, but not at the expense of my pathetic excuse for a sex life.”

Nikolaj snorted, and she couldn’t help but laugh quietly.

“I’m sorry,” he said, clearly not. “Mine is just as pathetic as yours.”

She laughed, loudly. “Okay,” she said. “Our pitiable celibacy notwithstanding, can we change the subject?”

“Yes! Please,” he said, sounding relieved. He took a deep breath. “I’m all packed for tomorrow.”

“You sound chuffed. Like a little boy going on his first big trip.”

“I am! I’m excited to get out of here. I’ve hardly been working at all, did you know that?”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just a few small things around here. Couple of commercials and a voiceover thing, but I told my agent I was taking a sabbatical after the split. So I’m excited to get back into London and try to get some actual work.”

“Well, you deserve to,” she said.

“And I’m excited to see you,” he said, and her stomach clenched.

“I am too,” she said, her voice surprisingly measured. “It’s been much too long away.”

“I know,” he said. “I don’t think we’re designed to be away from each other that long.”

She laughed, warmth flooding through her, thankful he wasn’t here to see the beet-red flush on her face.

“We’re definitely not,” she said, her tone much more wistful than she’d intended. “Where are you staying?”

“Hilton Metropole,” he said.

“Ooh,” she said. “Oh! That reminds me. Peter’s in town.”

“Oh, that’s right, he’s doing that play!”

“Yes, and I promised I’d go, so you better go, too,” she said. “But anyway, the reason I brought it up is because he’s invited us over on Friday: me, you and Lena. You up for that?” She and Lena had agreed this was the best way to get him there. No lies, just a little omission.

“Yeah!” he said, sounding truly happy. “Of course. It will be great to see them again. My brother and sister. They really are like my siblings. It’s so strange. But wonderful.”

“It is wonderful,” Gwen said. Her stomach growled painfully. That’s when she remembered: _the food!_ Deftly, she checked her phone to see her driver was still ten minutes away. “But you’re going to be okay, yeah? In the house?”

“I’ll be fine. He is not staying over; Nukaaka and I agreed on that. But I am going to grab dinner, say good night to my daughter when she gets home, and I will be out the door at eight tomorrow morning.”

“Good,” Gwen said, smiling. “I can’t wait.”

“Did you want me to pick you up on Tuesday? I’m renting a car.” Gwen smiled, so wide her cheeks hurt.

“So is this like a proper date, then?” she asked, approximately one-third in jest.

“We will see,” he teased, and they laughed. He took a big breath before he spoke again. “And thank you, Gwen. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t been able to talk to you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “That’s what friends are for. I’m just glad you’re talking about things. It helps.”

“It does,” he admitted.

“And don’t worry about giving me a lift,” she said. “It’s a long drive into Highgate and I can take the tube. I assume this place you’re taking me is close to your hotel?”

“Close enough,” he said.

“Well let’s meet in the lobby. Then we can walk. What time do you think?”

“Six?” he replied. “Should give us enough time.”

“Six it is then,” she said, her voice melodic. It was hard to hide the happiness she felt when speaking to him.

“Okay,” he said. “I need to have a shower, and eat. So thank you again for helping me through my crisis. Have a good night, Gwen.”

“You too,” she said, smiling.

“I’ll text you before I leave,” he said, and she smiled wider. “And after I land.”

“Okay,” she said, still grinning like a fool. “Have a good flight.”

“I will. Good night.”

“’Night,” she said.

And then, reluctantly, she brought the phone away from her face and ended the call.

It took a few seconds for the smile to fade and her body to stop vibrating, as it often did when they spoke. She just felt so alive when they talked, so happy and engaged. It was joyous, really, interacting with him.

Her phone buzzed and she went down to get the food, bringing it back into the kitchen to eat. She turned on the television, needing some sort of noise in the quiet of the house to keep pace with the buzzing in her brain.

The conversation they’d just had replayed in her head as she ate. She wondered, as she had for years, what the hell was going on in that head of his. In crisis one moment, asking her about the last time she’d had sex the next. She shook her head, blushing and laughing into the emptiness of her kitchen.

But the thing that she couldn’t forget was his assertion that the two of them weren’t made to be apart. It was the truth, no matter the category their relationship fit into. It was something she’d always known, and had treasured. She’d even dreaded the end of the show, knowing they’d see less and less of each other as the years went on. But hearing him finally acknowledge it was certainly encouraging.

Whatever the coming week brought, she’d hold onto that.

 _They were meant to be together_. Now they just had to figure out how.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies again for the long wait! Lots going on right now and it's hard to write.
> 
> Thanks again to Arwen! You gave me great suggestions & you're a huge help.
> 
> And thanks so everyone still reading this! You guys keep me going.
> 
> Oh and congrats to Gwen & Nikolaj on their Emmy noms! So exciting

Monday dawned bright and sunny and cool, and Gwen slipped out of bed equal parts eager and apprehensive. She had a bit of a day ahead of her: an audition for a significant guest role on a popular ITV detective drama later that morning (which she was fairly certain she had a good shot at it) and then a meeting with her agent just before lunch to chat about prospects, and rifle through the many middling scripts she’d been sent.

She got up and fixed herself breakfast, checking her phone while she ate to find a seven AM text from Nikolaj:

_Thank you again. Everything is fine now, girls are good. I’m on the way to the airport. Chat later. :-)_

She smiled at the stupid little face at the end of his text, shaking her head. Then she composed a response in between shovelling spoonfuls of Cheerios into her mouth.

 _I’m sure you’d do the same for me. Pretty sure. Have a great flight. Leave all your troubles behind._ ✈ ❤

She’d just gotten out of the shower when her phone buzzed again, and she checked it to find not a message, from Nikolaj, but from her mother.

_Hi darling girl. I am in London for the week! We must meet up xxx_

Gwen smiled at her mother’s message. She had totally forgotten, what with work, helping Lena plan Nikolaj’s party, and the general anxiety over the man’s impending arrival, that her mother had sent a few vague texts implying she might be coming down into London for the week.

But it was no great feat to have to have to pencil her mum in for a few hours. In fact, it would be nice to catch up.  It wasn’t often she made the trip down from Scotland, and it had been a good few months since they’d seen each other. Those months hadn’t been the easiest for Gwen, either. She had quite a lot on her mind.

She sent off a message to her mother suggesting they meet up for lunch, and then started to get ready.

Nikolaj kept his word, texting her at 10:15 as he waited around to board.

_In the terminal now. Boarding soon. Will be in London in three hours. I feel better already._

Gwen smiled, quickly responding:

_Remember to brace if the plane starts going down. Also, at ITV now for audition. Will tell you how it went when you land._

Before she’d even had a chance to reread her own text, the three little ellipses popped up. He was already responding to her message.

_Good luck! Break a leg. Just remember everything you learned from me and you’ll be fine._

She laughed, out loud, startling a woman walking by, and quickly shot back a text.

_If I don’t get it, I’m blaming you. Talk to you when you’re on British soil._

She was still smiling when her name was called a few minutes later.

μ

She met up with her mother in South Kensington right after her meeting, embracing her firmly and surprising her mother’s staid Scottish sensibilities. She couldn’t help it. Seeing her mother, all the hurt and loneliness she’d felt over the past few months came to a head, and she’d been helpless to throw herself into her arms.

Gwen didn’t waste any time, as they strolled along, relaying to her mother the broader details of her life since the last time she’d seen her.

“So she’s left him?” Philippa Christie asked somewhat later, as they perused the local farmer’s market, Gwen’s arms already full of produce she had big plans for. “For another man?”

“Basically,” Gwen replied, shifting her bundle of vegetables as they ambled along. “I mean, I wasn’t _entirely_ surprised.”

“Why was that?”

“Well,” she started, “they’re very independent of each other. He works a lot. And he _likes_ being away. I suppose it was only a matter of time.”

“I suppose,” her mother said, in that matter-of-fact way she was so good at. “It still must be very difficult for him.”

“It is,” Gwen replied. She checked her watch. “But he should be landing any minute now. He seemed in much better spirits this morning.”

Her mother nodded, inspecting a crate of carrots that Gwen noticed, with mild curiosity, were purple.

“So you speak to him often?” Philippa asked, the tone of her voice giving Gwen pause. She gave her mother a look.

“Yes,” she replied, hesitant. “Why do you ask?”

“I was just wondering—”

“Mother—”

“What?” she asked, looking up at Gwen innocently. But Gwen knew better. Pursing her lips, she gave a conciliatory shrug.

“We text almost every day. Several times a day, actually. We speak on the phone regularly.” She sighed, bracing herself. “We’re going out to dinner tomorrow night.”

Her mother’s head turned toward her abruptly and Gwen tried not to laugh.

“Is that so?” the older woman asked.

Gwen nodded, trying to stem the blush that was creeping up, but failing. The smile on her face was also particularly incriminating.

“I must admit I’m not entirely surprised,” her mother continued, stepping over to the crate of potatoes and putting a few in the bag Gwen had given her. “You certainly spoke about him often.”

“Did I?” Gwen asked, mentally cataloguing every single thing she’d ever said about Nikolaj in her family’s presence.

“Did you know,” her mother started. “Your brother was over the other day.”

“I did not know that, Mum, how could I?”

“I’m not finished yet, Gwendoline,” Philippa said, a tiny grin on her face. “He showed me a video of the two of you. He said it had 3 million views. I watched it a few times.”

“Why—” Gwen started, groaning loudly. “Why is he showing how to work YouTube? I believe I expressly asked him _not_ to do that. And why were the two of you sitting around watching videos of me and Nikolaj?” Her voice was getting high, and loud, and she noticed a few patrons looking her way. She took a breath, trying to calm herself.

It was just that as proud of her career as her family was, they still had their own lives and let her live hers. They supported her in their own way, cheering her on from afar and congratulating her for her successes, no matter where they were. That was the way it had worked for years, and it had worked well. She wasn’t comfortable having these two worlds collide.

It was bad enough having millions of other people watching them and speculating on her and Nikolaj’s relationship, in the comments of the videos she’d watched in some of her weaker moments.

She had half a mind to send her brother a text, expressly forbidding him from showing any more videos to their mother, but she refrained. He’d know right away the reason she was overreacting, and she was hoping she could keep things just between her mother and her for now.

“He was proud of you, darling. You’re hysterical, the two of you. You play off each other so well and you’re both incredibly charismatic. People want to see that. That’s nothing to be ashamed about.”

Gwen sighed, slumping a little. “I know,” she said. “It’s just—he’s coming to London and I haven’t seen him in six months and now I find out my mother and brother are gossiping about us hundred of kilometres away. Like I’m the only one not in on the joke!”

“We weren’t gossiping, Gwendoline. Don’t be ridiculous. I watched it after he left. And a few other ones—” Gwen groaned, but her mother pressed on “—and you really can tell you love and respect each other. And you just seem to have so much fun.”

Gwen smiled, shrugging innocently. “We do.”

“Well I think that’s lovely,” her mother said, and Gwen looked up at her and smiled. “Come now, let’s pay for these and we’ll go grab lunch. You can tell me all about him.”

Gwen laughed, hard.

μ

“So have the two of you really talked about your relationship?” her mother asked a half-hour later, as they dined at a local gourmet burger establishment.

“Not as such,” Gwen replied. “I think it it’s much too soon for him. He’s still adjusting to this newest change in his life. He’s grieving.”

“Aye,” her mother said. “But I know you, Gwendoline. You wouldn’t be so out of sorts if you thought he didn’t have feelings for you.”

“Well,” Gwen started, blushing a little. “We’ve always had a certain _rapport_. And at first it was rather annoying, but over time, it’s become one of _the most_ important relationships in my life. I mean, especially since Giles and I—and I think it has for him, too.” She paused, taking a bite of her salad. She smiled. “And Mum, the way he _looks_ at me, sometimes, I—no one has ever looked at me that way. No one. I—maybe I’m wrong, but sometimes—” She sighed.

Her mother smiled. “I think he _adores_ you, darling,” her mother said, and Gwen had to drop her head to hide her blush. “It’s fairly clear to anyone with eyes.”

“I don’t know about _that_ ,” she said, thinking back on how bloody ridiculous he could sometimes be. How it seemed his duty and joy to exasperate her into stony silence.

But, then, he’d say something uncharacteristically sweet or funny or turn on that smile again and she’d forget all about it. Or she’d read an article or watch an interview and hear him say the loveliest things about her—things he’d _never_ say in person. Why he reserved his kind words only for the times they _weren’t_ together was a question for the ages.

“He can be incredibly impossible,” she explained. “He seems to get joy out of getting my goat, so to speak.”

“But is he ever unkind?”

“No. No, no. He doesn’t have an unkind bone in his body. He can be flippant sometimes, a little ignorant.”

“But that’s just men, I think,” her mother said, and Gwen cackled. “Oh, darling, how I’ve missed your laughter.”

“You’d be one of the only ones who do. It’s literally a laugh only a mother could love,” she said, chuckling. Then she shrugged. “Well, except Nikolaj. He loves it. And he makes me laugh more than anyone I’ve ever known.” She shrugged, returning her attention to her salad as her mother smiled knowingly at her.

It was then that her phone buzzed once on the table—a text. She picked it up and read it, and the broad smile that came onto her face was almost painful.

_On English soil! Just deplaned. Going through customs, then headed to hotel. I feel like I have been reborn. How did audition go? I have been thinking about it the whole time._

“Is that him?” her mother asked, and she looked up to see Philippa’s kind blue eyes wrinkled with amusement at the corners.

Gwen nodded, still smiling. She laughed, softly, certain her entire body had flushed a bright pink.

“He’s here.”

Her mother nodded her head, watching her daughter intently.

Shrugging, Gwen typed out a reply.

_Welcome to Britain! Lots to see and do! Audition was actually fantastic. No comments about my height or my build and I was, of course, masterful. I must give credit to my acting teacher. Not you, the one I had in school._

Laughing quietly, she pressed send. She wondered if there’d ever be a time when they weren’t constantly needling each other. Where they just sent sincere, heartfelt messages back and forth. It took her only a few seconds to decide that that would be incredibly boring.

She looked up to see her mother still watching her, having finished her burger.

“Yes, yes, I know,” she said, staring the older woman down. “I’m utterly besotted.”

Her mother laughed; it was a quieter, more refined version of Gwen’s own. Then she began to speak, her rhotic Highland burr softened by decades spent by the sea in West Sussex.

“Darling, I know you’ve never listened to me—”

“That’s not true!” Gwen protested.

“Well, you were always more likely to take what your father said to heart rather than anything I said. But I think he would agree with me: attraction, infatuation, these things come and go. But a relationship built on years of mutual respect, on trust, on making each other laugh: it’s something that’s very rare. A relationship built on that type of foundation is more than your father or I ever got in _any_ of our marriages. If you love him—and I think you do, and if he loves you, and I think he does—” Gwen’s stomach did a little flip at that, tears pricking at the edges of her eyes “—you have to grab it up and don’t let go. You deserve a love like that, darling girl. Don’t settle for anything less.” At this, she reached across the table and cupped Gwen’s face—an uncharacteristic show of sentiment from her no-nonsense mum.

Gwen nodded, wiping the tears that had fallen from her eyes.

“You’re mellowing in your old age,” she said, once she’d gained her composure, and her mother pinched her cheek, hard. “Ouch!”

“Maybe I am,” Philippa said, shrugging, the silver overtaking her wavy blonde hair glinting in the sunlight. “You get soppy when you become a grandmother.”

Gwen smiled, thinking about her niece, who she hadn’t seen in months. Curiously, as well, she felt a desire she hadn’t felt before: to provide her mother with at least one more. She smiled, her heart aching as she thought of a little version of herself running around. She pushed it out of her head. _There was_ _still time._

“Well, thank you, Mother. I know I joke, but I needed that. I feel as though I’m lost all of a sudden.”

“You’ll find your way, darling. You always do.”

Gwen smiled, warmth flooding through her. Maybe she would.

μ

When Gwen finally got home, her sack of veggies clutched in her arms, it was dark. She checked her phone and was shocked to find it was nearly nine o’clock.

She’d spent six hours gallivanting around Kensington with her mother. They’d taken advantage of their proximity to various attractions to take in the Natural History Museum, a seemingly facile outing that had stretched into three and a half hours as they traipsed over the entire facility, taking in everything they could. Then they’d headed back to her mother’s hotel for supper. Hours of walking and talking about history and art and life had worked up an appetite.

Finally, they’d parted, with hugs and kisses uncharacteristic of them, and Gwen had promised to meet up again in a few days, after her dinner with Nikolaj.

It truly had been lovely, though, to see her Mum, to have the woman’s expertise in affairs of the heart put to good use. Gwen was silently considering taking a week off to spend up in Inverness-shire, relaxing and recharging and catching up on all of their goings-on. The mundanity of it appealed to her, suddenly. Away from prying eyes and not expected to be dressed to the nines every time she left the house.

Listening to her brother talk about his life, his job, his struggles and triumphs. Eating her mother’s cooking. Going for walks and feeling the winds coming in off of Loch Ness, that impossibly cold and fresh air. She would see if she had a few days in a couple weeks’ time. Maybe for her birthday. She missed her family a lot.

She’d barely gotten a chance to put away her purchases when her phone started buzzing insistently on the kitchen counter. Curious, she took a look—and her stomach dropped.

 _Nikolaj!_ Again, he was calling her. She momentarily considered letting this one go, taking a hot bath and soaking her aching feet and knees. She must have walked twenty kilometres today.

She groaned, picking up the phone and looking at his face. He _was_ all alone, in a relatively strange country. Away from his girls for the first time in ages. She sighed, then accepted the call.

“Hello,” she said, trying to sound slightly more animated than she felt.

“Gwen!” came his voice, and the smile she was valiantly fighting won.

“You made it!”

“Yes,” he said. “Flight was good, everything went well. Called the girls and they’re both fine.”

“That’s fantastic, how’re the accommodations?”

“Nice! Nothing fancy. I am just kicking back, relaxing.”

“Well, good,” she said, stepping over to the sofa and collapsing onto it with a groan. “You deserve it.”

“Long day?” he asked.

“Very. Audition was great. But the meeting was—”

“Disappointing?”

“A little. Skimmed through a few scripts. Nothing really stood out.”

“Well, just think: awards season is around the corner. Emmy nominations are in two weeks.”

She laughed. “You really think I have a chance?”

“I think that I am qualified to give that assessment. I was there, Gwen, I watched you.”

“Are you being nice to me?” she asked, coyly.

“I’m always nice to you,” he said, laughter in his voice, and she guffawed loudly. “I can’t wait to hear that laugh in person,” he said. “Will you get us kicked out of the restaurant again?”

She laughed, again, hard, remembering all the previous complaints. Truly she couldn’t help it when he was around.

“I’m not making any promises,” she said. “We’ll see how funny you are.”

“I am _always_ funny,” he said, and she giggled.

“I am really looking forward to it,” she said. “In the spirit of us being nice to each other.”

“Is that what we’re doing now?” he asked. “Well, so am I, then. It will be great to just talk. Forget about everything. That’s how it is when I’m with you.”

A pleasant little ripple went through her at the softness in his voice. She laughed, a little nervously.

“Thank you,” she said. “We really are being nice tonight.”

“Well, why not?” he asked, sounding a little frustrated.

 _Why not indeed_ , she thought, wistfully.

“It’s nice,” she said. “At the end of the day. I spent several hours with my mother today,” she said.

“That must have been nice,” Nikolaj said, and she smiled.

“It was,” she said. “I missed her. But I’m spent.”

“Tell me about it,” he said. “I had so much stress and anxiety over this trip, I feel now like I’m coming down from it.”

“Busy day tomorrow?” she asked, her own eyes starting to droop as she began to relax.

“Yes,” he said. “Meeting, meetings, meetings. Trying to salvage my career.” He laughed, sardonically.

“I don’t think that’s going to be a problem for you, sir. Not with that face.”

“We really are being nice,” he said, the delight in his voice plain. “Are you hitting on me, Gwen?” he asked, and she laughed, loudly.

“Is it working?”

“A little,” he said. She smiled.

“Well, I should go,” she said, yawning. “I just want to take a bath and collapse into bed. I’m getting too old for these twelve-hour days.”

“I am the same lately,” Nikolaj said, yawning in response. “I don’t know how we did what we did for Game of Thrones. All those nights.”

“I never want to do that again,” Gwen said. “It was fun, but…mad.”

“Very mad,” he agreed. His voice was soft, as if he was slipping in and out of sleep.

“I think you should go to bed,” she said.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “Okay.” He took a deep breath. “I’m really going to go now.”

She smiled. “Okay,” she said. “Sweet dreams.”

“I will,” he said. “I’ll dream of tomorrow, dinner with you.”

She smiled, laughing quietly. “Well I can’t promise I’ll dream of you,” she said. “There are a lot of other men in my life.”

He laughed, softly. “I’m sure there are.” He sighed. “Good night, Gwen. See you tomorrow.”

“Good night, Nikolaj,” she said, her chest constricted. This was so soft, so domestic. It was curious how quickly they were falling into that. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye bye.”

“Bye,” he said, and the line went dead.

She took the phone away from her face, dropping her hand in her lap. She took a breath, a smile still plastered on her face. _Maybe it wasn’t so boring to be nice_ , she thought.

She laughed softly, getting up from the sofa to go draw herself a bath.

Tomorrow was certainly going to be interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note-I'm pushing the Emmys ahead to January, as that fits better w this story, and that way I can know what's going to happen before I have to write it in here.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for sticking with this for so long. I know it's been a trek. It's about to get a lot more fun, though. ;)
> 
> Arwen-again, thanks so much. I can't tell you how much it's helped having feedback and encouragement!
> 
> Enjoy, y'all!

She slept soundly that night, though her dreams were vivid. She woke with a smile on her face, the memory of the dream quite pleasant, but she couldn’t remember the exact circumstances.

She’d brought home a few of the most promising scripts the day before: a feature film, and the pilots for a limited series and a TV series, respectively. She’d go over them again, see if she’d missed something the first time around, maybe get a second opinion from a few of her producer friends.

Then after lunch, she had to finish up some voiceover work for a commercial she’d done. It hopefully wouldn’t take more than a couple hours.

The dinner with Nikolaj seemed far off, as she rose and got herself breakfast, then brushed her teeth and tried to do something with her hair. She’d collapsed into bed with it still wet and the thick waves had taken on a mind of their own.

The limited series pilot was sci-fi-ish and not entirely horrible. Scientists trapped in Antarctica; atmospheric terror. Something stalking them. It sounded fun, but she truly was looking for something a little more normal at the moment. She shrugged and tossed it aside. It was a maybe.

The TV series pilot was certainly interesting—a police procedural that reminded her of Sally Wainwright’s _Scott & Bailey_. It was well-written, nuanced. But police procedurals were rather trite. And getting it produced with her as the face of it would be no short order.

The film was certainly interesting: the story of a single, drug-addled mother struggling to keep custody of her son while grappling with homelessness amid Brexit and Theresa May’s austerity. It certainly had the attributes of a significant role. Something emotionally truthful, something she could disappear into.

But the script had problems. The pacing, the dialogue, the casual misogyny and ignorance that told her, without even having to look, that it was written by a man. She looked. She was right. She sighed.

In the hands of a competent script doctor it could be something. She flagged it as such, and hoped the writer was open to constructive criticism. That wasn’t always the case. But she still had to try. It could be what she’d been waiting for.

After that, she checked in with her agent, browsing casting calls and audition notices.

And then, when she could dawdle no longer, a giddy anxiety began to creep in.

Slowly, at first, her heart starting to beat a little faster, her gut becoming unsettled. Eventually, she could fight it off no longer. She was suddenly incredibly nervous.

In a few hours, she’d need to start getting ready for the dinner.

She’d be seeing him again, for the first time in six long months. And while they’d kept in touch, tracked each other via social media, nothing compared to being in his presence. Smelling his cologne, modestly applied and just so _him._ That smile of his when she told a joke, like she was the only person in the world. And the twinkle in his eyes whenever he was teasing her. Which was often.

She sighed, deeply, trying to focus. She had a job to do in a few hours. She needed to keep her head cool for just a little while longer.

Then she could go mental.

She got up and started to get ready.

μ

The voice work, thankfully, took less time than she’d been anticipating. The studio had sent a car for her, and as a result, she’d shaved a good half hour off her commute.

When she got home, she dropped her things on the floor with a huff. Then she stood in the middle of the living room, her mind whirring. She had three hours until she had to catch the train, headed to Paddington to meet Nikolaj. She truthfully hadn’t even thought about what she was going to wear.

She sighed, kicking off her shoes, and dropping her coat on the sofa. Her stomach was nervous already, as if she’d drunk too much coffee. She tried not to think about what was at stake this night, at what signals and cues she’d have to give off or receive.

She and Giles had started out as friends with a common interest, and after a few years they’d fallen into their relationship quite naturally. But they’d never had the crackling sexual chemistry she and Nikolaj had, the electricity that passed through them each time they touched, the looks that felt like they wouldn’t end. She was through the looking glass here.

Sighing, she grabbed her phone, heading toward her bedroom purposefully.

One good thing about having dated a fashion designer was the startling amount of bespoke clothing she’d been left with. Everything from suits and gowns to more casual dresses and slacks. As a woman who had struggled to find clothing that fit her since she was a teenager, it was a huge advantage.

She smiled softly as she rifled through her wardrobe, a rather large walk-in room she’d argued with her estate agent about. It had taken her a month longer to find a place because Gwen’d insisted on it.

But as she flipped through the clothes, the nostalgia began to overwhelm her, remembering each and every event, moment and memory tied to each article of clothes. She fingered the fabric of one of her favourites, the silk-crepe printed bird egg dress she’d worn for one of their only joint interviews for the Telegraph. He’d always made sure she got a perfectly-tailored version of her own whenever he made something she liked.

And as an actress just getting her footing in the industry, it had been almost too good to be true.

She truly was grateful to him for that, for making her feel comfortable in her own skin, not having to fight to get something nice that fit. It had been truly life-changing for her, to not feel like such a freak.

He’d also been very gifted at making her feel loved and treasured, something that had not come to her easily in life. He’d loved her unconditionally, truly, and it had aided her immensely, especially when dealing with the emotional torture that had been becoming Brienne of Tarth.

But, most importantly, he’d made her feel heard. He’d listened to her, taken her suggestions, created things from the ideas she’d presented him. It had been the first time in life she’d felt creatively fulfilled. Like she was truly in a partnership.

Giles had been the longest and most significant romantic relationship she’d ever had. And she’d loved him, too. Fiercely.

But in the end, as was often the case, it wasn’t enough.

She let the sadness wash over her, missing him and the life they’d created together. Then she wiped away the lone tear that had fallen and delved deeper into the closet.

She was setting out on a new course tonight. A new avenue had opened up, one she’d entertained but had never believed would become a reality. And as scared as she was, she remembered that despite their ending, she didn’t regret a single moment with Giles.

Relationships, people, events: they all were incredibly valuable in their own way. They taught you things, about yourself, about others. They showed you how life could be, and taught you what the world was like.

 _Experiences_. That was what was important. Whatever happened, all experiences were worth the pain they caused, in the end. She tried to tell herself that, over and over, as she picked out a few choice items and laid them on her bed.

Nikolaj was her friend, first. Her colleague. She was going out tonight to catch up, to laugh and eat and drink and enjoy life. To experience. There was nothing more valuable than that.

Whatever happened between them would happen. As her mother had said, she’d find her way. And it would not do to agonise over it, wondering if she was making the right choices. Nikolaj was the right choice. Tonight, here. He was her friend, her confidant. He made her happy. What more did she need?

She shrugged, going back to pick out a few pairs of shoes. She then tried to assemble a few looks, ones that would be appropriate no matter where he was taking her.

She decided it was likely to be a bit posh, but not oppressively so, which ruled out some of her most ostentatious gowns. A simple dress or a pantsuit seemed her best bet. Something practical, yet still, obviously, stunning. And something he hadn’t seen before.

It took a while, and many trips back and forth. Picking out pieces, then taking them back. Mixing and matching tops and bottoms with shoes and accessories.

Finally, she thought, she had it. It was too cold for one of the many short dresses she liked to wear, and too wet for anything past her ankle, so she’d decided tight black trousers would be the most appropriate choice. And since she’d be walking, flats rather than heels. She chose a pair of red leather loafers for a little colour.

Then, a tight white top under a beige buttonless blazer. If it got warm in the restaurant, she could easily remove it.

And then, a camel wool trench coat to top it all off.

She walked up to the mirror, modelling her outfit, turning and striking poses.

It was perfect. Casual, yet sharp. Simple, but still quite stunning.

She smiled, thinking of Nikolaj’s reaction when he saw her. He always pretended not to notice her clothing, but she saw the little looks he’d sneak, the way his eyes widened ever-so-slightly when she took her coat off to reveal something rather sharp underneath.

She cackled, taking another look in the mirror. _He wouldn’t stand a chance._

She checked her watch. 4:01 pm. Her pulse spiked. _Christ,_ she thought, kicking off her shoes and hanging up her coat. She still needed to style her hair and do her make-up. It was times like this that she’d regretted letting her assistant Erin take another job in April.

After the press tour had ended for Game of Thrones, she’d decided to go it alone for a while, with a much-less-bruising schedule and needing a little time to herself. She wondered, often, if it had been the right choice. But she seemed to be managing fine for the time being.

She could have killed for a couple of hairstylists and maybe a make-up artist right now, though. Erin would’ve had someone here in minutes.

Gwen rolled eyes. This wasn’t a red-carpet event. It was dinner and drinks with a friend. She sat down at her vanity and turned on her curling iron.

She gazed at her bare face in the mirror. Her skin was still freckled from the sun she’d gotten out by the pool, and her pale blonde eyebrows were barely visible above her eyes. The dark blonde roots of her hair were coming in, contrasting sharply with the platinum blonde of the rest of it. It was time to get them done, but part of her was wondering if she should dye it darker instead, and let the natural colour of her hair grown in. It had been years since she’d done that. More than twenty, at least.

Her phone cut into her thoughts, buzzing insistently on the bed, and for one nauseating second, she thought it was Nikolaj. Instead, she saw the face of the woman who’d played his sister on the screen of her phone.

 _Lena_ , she thought. _Thank Christ._

She answered quickly.

“How’s it going?” Lena asked.

“I’ve got the outfit down, but hair and make-up are still up in the air,” Gwen said, suddenly breathless.

“But you’ve got a handle on that, haven’t you?”

“I suppose,” she said, grabbing the now-hot curling iron and wrapping a tendril of hair around it. She made a face at the result. “I should have just gone and gotten it done.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Well, I don’t want to make a huge deal out of this. It’s just dinner.”

“Did you talk to him? On the phone?”

“Last night,” Gwen said. “And the night before.”

“Really?”

“Didn’t I tell you? Oh, no that was my mum I told.”

“Your mum?”

“Yeah she’s in town. Showed up yesterday out of the blue. We had a lovely day together actually.”

“Oh, that’s nice, how is she?”

“Same as ever,” Gwen said. She was starting to get somewhere with her hair, the curls starting to coalesce. “Very interested in Nikolaj and I.” She laughed.

“Oh really?” Lena asked, amused.

“Yeah. I cracked. I told her everything. I mean, not that there’s much to tell.”

“Wow,” Lena said. “You really are serious about this.”

“Maybe. I guess. I’m—I feel like I’ve finally moved on from Giles. Maybe it was going through all the clothes he made for me tonight, but I feel sad, but grateful, you know? It doesn’t _hurt_ anymore.”

“I know exactly what you mean,” Lena said. “Good for you.”

“I suppose. I do miss him. Just as a friend, even.”

“Nothing wrong with that.”

“Hmm,” Gwen hummed, absentmindedly. She shook her hair a little, pleased at the progress she was making.

“So he called you?” Lena asked, after a time.

“Yes!” Gwen said, laughing. “I mean, I shouldn’t laugh, it’s just like clockwork the past two nights. Well—Sunday night Nukaaka showed up unannounced with the new boyfriend at the house and Nikolaj had to—”

“She did not!” Lena, said, her voice incredulous.

“I’m afraid so. He took Safina out for ice cream. Nikolaj was—beside himself.”

“Christ.” Lena said. “He’s really got to get out of that house.”

“I know!” Gwen said, shaking her head and burning herself with the curling iron in the process. “Ouch!”

“You okay?”

“Fine, fine,” she said. She gave her hair a little shake, pleased with the result. She had it parted on the side, waves cascading over her head. She put in a few bobby pins to keep it in place, and then drenched her entire head in hairspray. “Sorry,” she told Lena, coughing. “Hair’s done I think.”

“Nice. What did you two talk about last night?”

“Not much,” Gwen said, smiling softly. “He was really tired, coming down off an adrenaline high. It was sweet, though. We were being nice to each other. It was so strange.”

“Aww!”

“Lena,” Gwen warned.

“But it’s just—you two are just so sweet! I’m _so happy_ that you get to give it a go.”

“Well, that’s up to him now, innit?” Gwen said.

“Gwen do you seriously think he doesn’t want to give it a try? After everything? With how he looks at you? God, even I got sick of listening to him talk about you.”

“Really?”

“Yes! He’s game, Gwen. Trust me. You just have to take it slow.”

Gwen sighed, deeply. She got up, checking out her hair and outfit in the full-length mirror.

 _Lovely_ , she thought. She smiled.

“Thank you, Lena. I don’t know—I don’t know how I would have gotten through this without you.”

“It’s been my pleasure,” she said. “So,” she said, after a few seconds, suddenly all business. “Call me at about half-eight. Or text if you don’t want to leave the table. By then you should know if I’m needed or not, correct?”

“I would think so,” Gwen said, still looking at herself in the mirror.

“Or maybe I should just let nature take its course tonight.”

“No!” Gwen said, snapping out of her reverie. “That would be the worst thing we could do.”

“But, Gwen, I mean—eight, nine years of sexual tension. Can you _imagine_? When you two finally do it, your genitals will literally—explode.” She cackled.

“Oh, good lord! Is this supposed to be helping me?”

“I’m just stating the obvious! How long are you going to be able to hold out? Honestly?”

Gwen sighed, making a face at her reflection.

“I don’t know,” she said. “But we have to. I can’t—I have to know that he’s ready to move on before any—genitalia get involved. We have to talk. I have stipulations, Lena!”

“I know, I know. I was just taking the piss, Gwen,” she said. “Take your time. Listen—I have to go make the kids dinner but my mum’s on call at any time to come watch them. Call me, okay?”

“I will,” she said, nodding. “I promise. And thank you so much for offering, again.”

“Not a problem,” Lena said, laughing. “I could do with a conversation with actual adults.”

“Okay,” Gwen said, laughing. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” she said. “Have fun, Gwen. Just relax!”

“I will do,” Gwen said. “I promise. Goodbye.”

“Bye!” Lena sang, and Gwen laughed, ending the call.

She placed her phone down gently on the vanity, taking a deep breath. She sat down, taking a look at her freckly face. She checked the time on her phone: 4:24 pm.

_Shit._

She’d checked the trains earlier. She had to leave in twenty minutes to get to the hotel with time to spare. She groaned, grabbing a few make-up bottles and getting to work.

Ten minutes later, she was satisfied. She stood in front of the mirror again, taking one last look. She belted her coat, pursing her lips. She’d made sure her lipstick matched her shoes, perfectly. She’d decided less was more when it came to make-up. Nikolaj had seen her face in every conceivable light, with varying amounts of dirt, real or fake, caked on her face.

She’d only applied a thin layer of foundation, a smattering of blush, a light brown mascara and iridescent eye shadow.

It was a good look.

She nodded appreciably at herself in the mirror. taking a big, shaky breath. It was then that her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she took it out, realising as she did that Nikolaj hadn’t texted her all day.

_Are you getting excited?_

She smiled at the message, quickly tapping out a reply.

_I’ve neither ate nor slept since we last spoke._

_Just about to hop on the train. I’ll text you when I get there._

She dropped her phone into her pocket, taking one last look at herself, and turned on her heel, leaving her house to catch the train.

μ

The train ride should have been calming, but after being approached twice in Kentish Town station, and having two young men shout at her that “Brienne deserved better,” she was a little on edge.

It wasn’t the fan encounters that were the problem. In fact, she loved them. But tonight she needed to be alone. She needed to relax and gather her thoughts.

 _I should’ve taken a cab,_ she thought, as she changed trains again at King’s Cross for her last leg of the journey. She found a quiet car, with only three other people in it: an older Punjabi woman and a young mother preoccupied with her toddler.

She took a breath as the train left the station, knowing her stop let out right across the street from Nikolaj’s hotel. Her heart was already racing, the emotion starting to seep in no matter how hard she tried to keep it in that box. It had been so long since she’d seen his face. And so much had happened.

She took a few deep breaths, letting the rhythm of the train calm her. She closed her eyes, willing her heart rate and blood pressure to go back down.

 _It will be fine,_ she told herself, like a mantra. _Just breathe. Relax. Be yourself._

She just kept doing that, breathing deeply, repeating the words. She felt herself calming, her heart lubbing away sedately in her chest, her stomach unclenching.

She’d been counting the stops in her head: _Euston Square. Great Portland Street. Baker Street._ She opened her eyes. Edgware Road was next. _Breathe,_ she told herself. She did, deeply.

But then the train stopped, and her heart with it. This was it. She got up, stepping quickly into the chilly autumn evening. The cold felt good against her skin as she walked along the platform.

She quickly climbed the stairs to street level and exited the station, crossing Cabbell Street. She could see the hotel getting closer as she walked, an interesting grey and blue terraced building with an accompanying tall grey block of suites. It was certainly an odd assortment of architecture.

But this was it. The Hilton London Metropole.  

She crossed the street when then light turned green, disappearing into the crowd of pedestrians before she alit onto the pavement in front of the hotel. She wavered, a little, her heart rate starting to pick up again.

 _Just breathe, relax, be yourself,_ she told herself, and entered the hotel.

The lobby was interminably bright, with white marble tile exacerbating the effect. She walked through and found a lounge area, sitting down in a high-backed chair. It was thankfully, mostly empty.

It was then she realised they’d arranged to meet at six, and it was—she checked her watch—5:35 pm.

_Shit._

She really, really, didn’t want to wait. But at the same time, she didn’t want to pressure him to hurry. She’d been so preoccupied on getting there early in case some disaster befell her that she hadn’t thought of what she’d do if there were no delays.

She waited, a little, catching up on a few texts, group chats, checking her social media. She checked the time.

5:37 pm.

“Christ,” she said, under her breath. She couldn’t sit here any longer. She’d drive herself mad. She texted Nikolaj.

_I’m here! A bit early, apologies. Ready?_

She pursed her lips, smiling mildly at a young family walking by. They returned the gesture, no recognition in their eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief. Her phone buzzed.

_Not yet! Come on up._

Her phone buzzed again with his room number. Sighing, she stared at the number.

She shouldn’t, really. But what was she supposed to say? _Sorry, Nikolaj, I’m trying to stay out of closed rooms with beds in them with you until we figure what exactly we are?_

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Not bloody likely.

 _Be right up!_ she texted instead, taking a breath and heading for the elevator.

It would be fine. Better than meeting up down in the lobby where there were people with smartphones at the ready.

She stepped off the elevator into the cool, silent corridor. Her feet made no noise on the lush carpeting as she counted down the room numbers.

And then she was in front of his. She checked the number on her phone just to be sure.

 _This was it._ She shook her, head, rolling her eyes. This was ridiculous. She’d done this before, many times.

She reached up to knock, her heart literally skipping a beat in her chest as her knuckles reverberated on the hard wood.

She could hear his footfalls inside, coming closer. She momentarily considered running. That way she wouldn’t have to vomit all over Nikolaj’s designer clothing.

She laughed, silently. Then plastered a confident smile on her face.

_She could do this._

She heard the door unlatch, and looked up. She tried to hide the involuntary intake of breath she made when she saw him.

“Nikolaj,” she heard herself say, breathlessly. He’d lost weight. Too much. His hair was freshly done, parted on the side and styled over his head in a bit of a quiff. It looked nice. But his scruffy face was a little drawn, a few new lines at the corners of his eyes.

But all that was eclipsed by the smile he was giving her—wide and toothy, his dark blue eyes alight.

Tears sprung to her eyes, and she shook her head, crossing the threshold and unceremoniously wrapping her arms around him. She couldn’t help it. _Christ,_ she thought, as she felt his arms snake around her back, pulling her to him. This man would be the end of her.

“Gwen,” she heard him say, his mouth near her ear, and she shuddered with emotion and a sudden, terrifying need. “I missed you,” he whispered, and she tried to stifle the sob that came out. She was unsuccessful.

“I’m sorry,” she said, laughing. She felt his laughter reverberate through her, and she reached up to wipe away the stupid tears that had fallen.

At once, she realised they were standing there with the door open, half-in and half-out of the room. She pulled away, reluctantly, surprised to see his eyes wet, as well.

He gestured with his head and she entered fully, Nikolaj closing the door behind them.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, wiping her leaky eyes.

She laughed, hard, and he just looked at her, almost in awe. As if he didn’t believe she was real.

“You’re not making fun of me,” she said, and he laughed.

He opened his mouth, once, then twice. “I’m just—I’m _so_ glad you’re here,” he said, his voice low, reverent, almost.

“Nikolaj!” she chided. Fresh tears were starting to fall and she reached out to hit him softly on the shoulder. “Please stop! Say something rude.”

But instead, he just crossed the distance between them and gently took her back into his arms. She melted against him, her chin hooking over his shoulder and her arms gripping his waist. His short beard rubbed against the side of her face, his hand rubbing her back in calming circles. She breathed deeply, willing the tears to stop.

“I’m so sorry,” she said from his shoulder, once her eyes started to dry. “About everything. You didn’t deserve it.”

He breathed deeply, his chest pushing into hers.

“Thank you, Gwen,” he said. He pulled back a little to get a look at her, and she couldn’t look away from the gratitude she saw in his eyes. Then, he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, the coarse hairs on his face scratching hers. She closed her eyes, and then he pulled away, slowly extricating himself from her embrace.

She opened her eyes, feeling at once the absence of his warmth, even still clad in her huge overcoat. She looked up at him and they shared a smile. It was a little shy, both of them not quite sure where they stood. _Uncharted waters,_ Gwen thought.

“You want a drink?” he asked, tentatively, stepping out of the vestibule into the living room of the suite.

She smiled, thinking of her two-drink resolution. She nodded, unable to care. She’d break it before they left the hotel at this rate.

She slipped out of her coat and hung it up, following him into the room.


	11. Chapter 11

Gwen could still feel the bristles of his beard against her cheek as she stepped into the suite, her hand going up to her face. She smiled. That was new—the kiss. He’d never, in their eight-odd years together, kissed her, anywhere on her body.

At least not without a camera in front of them and fifty-odd crew members watching.

She walked past him as he approached the minibar, taking out some bottles and flipping over the tumblers, and took seat on the sofa facing him.

He’d been right about the room—it wasn’t fancy, but it was big, with two sofas and a dining area in the half-circle-shaped living room. There was a fireplace, too, and through an open door, Gwen could see a desk with his laptop on it. She suspected the bedroom was through the door on the other end of the room, but she looked away from it, pretending she hadn’t seen it. Instead, she peered out the window at the street below, the sun now low in the sky and the street and buildings streaked in red and gold.

She looked back over at him as he poured a little bottle of gin into one glass and she smiled—he remembered her drink.

She just watched him for a few seconds, the way he moved and the energy he exuded. She’d missed being near him, and it felt good to be in his presence again. For so long she’d had to imagine him on the other end of the telephone line, or sitting in his room typing characters into the text window on his phone.

But now, here he was, in the flesh, full of life and, as ever, commanding all attention in the room. And, not to mention: newly single, dressed impeccably and expertly coiffed. Preparing her a cocktail before taking her out to dinner. She shook her head, still incredulous at this turn of events.

A year ago they’d been friends and former colleagues, still meeting up from time to time for award shows and press junkets, happy with their respective partners and lives.

It was overwhelming, really, to gauge all that had changed. To gauge what could happen.

And, Christ, he looked good.

He was wearing a dark turquoise tailored suit, his jacket unbuttoned to show the simple white boat-neck shirt underneath—a casual touch to the rather smart suit that fit with his somewhat boyish hairstyle. The styling took years off his already youthful appearance, and his sometimes-childlike demeanour did the work of taking off the remaining years. It was hard for her to believe he’d soon be out of his forties.

He finished the drinks, her pulse quickening as he turned toward her. She took a deep breath, reassuring herself that they’d done this before countless times.

That was true. But never like this, she reminded herself—with expectation, possibility. Hope.

She took her drink from him, trying not to ogle his figure. It was impeccably tailored, the suit, fitting him perfectly and leaving very little to the imagination. His trousers were _awfully_ tight, and she tried to stem the blush and the unexpected ache between her legs as he sat down across from her, his slacks bunching revealingly.

It was almost too much, being here, in this room with him. Perhaps she’d have been better served to remain downstairs, waiting and pacing in the sterile lobby. At least it was safe down there. She took a long sip of her drink, steeling herself, smiling as the spice of the gin tingled over her tongue. She willed the alcohol to perfuse her brain and calm her racing heart.

She looked up at him in the silence to see him smiling at her.

“What?” she asked, her face flushing. She was suddenly thankful for the make-up she’d applied.

He just shook his head, bursting into laughter, and she could only laugh in confusion.

“What is it that you find so consistently funny about me?” she asked. “Is it my face?”

That set him off, nearly choking on the mouthful of whisky in his mouth, but managing to swallow it before bursting into laughter. She couldn’t help but follow, her laughter echoing off the walls of the hotel room so loudly she was sure the rooms adjacent to them would complain.

“ _Is it_ my face?” she asked, after she’d caught her breath, and Nikolaj snorted.

“Not your face,” he said, shaking his head. “You’re just funny! I just laugh when you’re around.”

“Oh, well, that’s lovely to know,” she said, sardonically.

“You know what I mean, Gwen,” he said, flashing his perfect white teeth at her again.

She laughed, shaking her head.

“I’ve missed this,” he said, after a few seconds, his voice warm. He took a deep draught of his drink.

“Me too,” she said, smiling. She took another sip and it was then she felt the last of the liquid drain out of it. Christ—she’d only been in the room for mere minutes and she was already at the bottom of Drink One. And she’d stupidly forgotten to eat lunch, what with work and the stress of getting ready.

She set her empty glass down on the table beside her.

“Another one?” Nik, asked. He drained the last of his glass and got up from the sofa, heading toward the bar again.

“Better not,” she said, getting up as well. She needed air, and sitting across from that look he was giving her was making it hard to think. She walked to the window as he poured himself another.

“Long day?” he asked as she stood there, looking out at last of the day’s light streaking across the city. She shrugged.

“Not really. You know. Read some scripts, did a thing. What about you? How’d your meetings go?”

“The same. Read some scripts, talked about some projects. Set up a couple of auditions for this week.” He shrugged, smiling. He rounded the sofas, sitting down on the back of the one closest to her.

“Optimistic?” she asked.

“Always,” he replied, betraying nothing, and they both smiled. What other choice did they have?

“Have you even had a chance to get out and do anything fun?”

He snorted.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “But honestly it has been such a relief just to be away from that house.”

“Well—and I apologise if I’m speaking out of turn—I think you need to get out of there,” she said. He sighed, his shoulders slumping a little.

“I know,” he said. “But it will be hard, with the girls. I would have to find somewhere close.” He shrugged again, lines appearing on his forehead as he thought it over. He looked up at Gwen, and she tried to look encouraging. He smiled, gratitude again apparent on his face, and took of sip of scotch.

“So where are you taking me?” she asked, after a they’d lapsed into a companionable silence.

His demeanour changed, sitting up straighter. He cheered, his expression transforming into one of sheer delight.

“That’s a surprise,” he said.

“But why? I want to know!”

“Believe me,” he said, getting up to join her at the window. “It will be worth it.”

“It better be,” she said.

“You would think the pleasure of my company would be enough, Gwendoline,” he said, his voice low, and she rolled her eyes. She tried to look anywhere but at him.

“What time’s the reservation?” she asked, checking her watch. It was just after six, already. Time certainly flew when they were together.

“Seven,” he said, straightening his jacket. “We should probably get going soon. How do I look?”

She cocked her head at him, unamused.

“Nikolaj,” she said, “you know the answer to that question.”

He shrugged, a coy smile on his face.

“Yes, but I want to hear you say it,” he said, stepping infinitesimally closer. Gwen stood her ground, even though his mere proximity to her was exacerbating the flush that the gin had brought on. Not to mention the light-headedness. She should have at least eaten a snack before she left. Time seemed to be speeding up all of a sudden, her control of the situation slipping from her fingers.

“I don’t believe I heard you say anything about _my_ outfit,” she retorted, faux-haughtily.

“Gwen,” he said, “you _always_ look amazing.”

She rolled her eyes again, though the pinkish hue of her face probably gave her away.

“Stop flirting,” she heard herself say, though there was no conviction behind it.

Nikolaj bit his lip, a little bit of Jaime Lannister shining through as he appraised her clothing from head to toe. She felt a little dizzy; the combination of his nearness, the alcohol, and the anxiety was making her feel almost giddy. She didn’t _hate_ it.

“Honestly,” he said. “You look fantastic. It’s perfect for where we’re going.”

“I should have worn a dress,” she said, looking down to hide the stupid smile on her face.

“No way,” he said, and she looked back up at him slowly. “I love the trousers.”

She shrugged in an attempt at nonchalance, turning toward the window, her heart thudding traitorously in her chest.

“It’s a nice suit,” she said, her smile giving her away. “Fits you well.”

She hazarded a glance at him, and the smirk he gave her in return was positively wanton. She could only shake her head, looking back out at the city. He was gaining on her, gradually getting the upper hand.

And why was he doing this? What was his game? He couldn’t want—no, not so soon. So was he just lonely, then? Randy? She closed her eyes, shaking her head inconspicuously.

“Anyway,” she said, clearing her throat. He knew the effect he had on her—he always had. He did it on purpose. She’d just chalked it up to their weirdly antagonistic relationship. But now? Now it was something else. There were no barriers now. No TV show, no wedding ring, no one waiting up for them back home.

Just two relatively young adults standing less than a foot away from each other in a massive hotel room, leering at each other and flirting shamelessly. He was wearing her down, eroding her confidence. She needed to gain back some control. She took a couple of deep breaths.

“How far do we have to walk?” she asked, after what felt like a minute-long silence, but was probably closer to ten seconds.

“Bit of a hike,” he said, checking his watch. “We should probably get going, actually.” He drained his drink in one go and placed the glass on a nearby table.

“Okay,” she said, taking a breath. _Thank Christ,_ she thought. She could actually do with getting out of this stifling room. She needed the cool night air hitting her face, sobering her, letting her think.

He turned from her to head toward the powder room, entering to give himself one last once-over. She watched him as he buttoned his jacket, pulling it tight around his waist. He caught her eye in the mirror as he did so and smiled, and she looked away, abashed and annoyed.

“You look fine,” she said, walking toward him. “Stop primping.”

“I do no such thing,” he said, smugly.

Gwen ignored him, brushing by him to check her lipstick and corral the curls that were getting slightly unruly. He took the hint and exited the small bathroom.

“Can I use your hairspray?” she asked, tucking her white top more securely into her trouser waistband and adjusting her blazer.

“Yes,” he answered from around the corner, where she assumed he was putting on his coat. “And you look fine.”

She sprayed her hair again, letting it set for a few seconds before giving herself one last look. She smiled. He'd been right. She did look fantastic. She smirked, and turned out of the room, entering the vestibule to find him buttoning a rather sharp dark grey wool coat. Her eyebrows flicked upwards of their own accord.

“Like it?” he asked, and she rolled her eyes, turning to get her coat from the hook. _Stop it_ , she thought.

But Nikolaj beat her to it, grabbing it before she could and holding it open for her. She just turned to him, shaking her head, her lips pursed. This was all terribly domestic, and she hated that they fell into it so easily.

She turned away from him, putting her arms through the sleeves of the proffered jacket, turning back toward him once she’d buttoned it, tying the belt tightly around her waist, almost aggressively. She could tie her own damn jacket, thank you very much.

He was smirking at her again, looking like the cat that got the cream. It was overwhelming, this new Nikolaj, who said nice things and was looking at her like _that_ with no ring on his left hand. Again, she wondered: _why is he being like this?_ She felt almost inundated by his presence. Like a wave in the ocean, bowling her over.

She needed space. A little bit of breathing room to get her wits about her. If not, she wasn’t exactly sure how long her resolve would last.

“Come on,” he said, reaching past her for the door and encroaching dangerously upon her personal space.

Their faces inches away from each other, she squared her jaw, trying to ignore the effect his proximity had on her. _This would not do._ He needed to know this. She stood up to her full height, which was barely an inch taller than him in the shoes they were wearing. But it still gave her a small advantage.

She pursed her lips, drawing on her years of training to look down her nose at him aloofly, not giving anything away.

He responded in kind, working his jaw a little, biting his bottom lip annoyingly.

It was mere seconds, this stand-off, but to Gwen it felt interminable. Nikolaj broke first, his eyes dropping as he turned the doorknob and stepped around her out into the hallway.

Gwen grabbed the doorknob once it had closed, letting out the breath she was holding, a tiny spark of victory spreading through her. Her heart was pounding, her head swimming with liquor and lust and something else she dared not speak of. She closed her eyes, taking a deep, steady breath.

 _I have control of this_ , she told herself, several times, until she started to believe it.

Then, like nothing had happened, she opened the door and joined Nikolaj in the corridor, ignoring the stupid smirk on his face and walking in step beside him toward the elevator.

μ

Going outside was definitely the correct choice, as Gwen sobered the second the brisk autumn air hit her face. Suddenly she felt confident again, as she strutted down the street, a head taller than most of the people she passed.

They walked two abreast down the pavement, ignoring the occasional stares. The sun was nearly down, and the streets were mercifully dark, but that did not stop a few eagle-eyed fans from recognising them.

Thankfully, though, no one approached them. She didn’t know what she’d do if they did, asking her questions about Jaime and Brienne, or, god forbid, wondering what the two of them were doing out together.

“Do you know where we’re going?” she asked him as they marched down Edgware Road, past the shops and restaurants, tourists and locals mingling together in equal parts.

“Of course I do, Gwen,” he said, sounding mildly exasperated.

“I’m just wondering,” she said. “A girl can’t be too careful these days.”

She saw his look out of the corner of her eye and she grinned. He responded by nudging her gently with his shoulder as they walked, throwing her off step a little. She grinned.

“Did you talk to the girls today?” she asked. They were making good time, both being of above-average height and having rather long legs, and Gwen could feel her wits begin to return to her as they walked. She was actually starting to look forward to dinner.

“I did,” he said. “They’re both doing well.”

“That’s lovely,” she said, genuinely. “I’m glad. I know this must be tough for them.”

Nik sighed, nodding. “It is,” he said. “But they like him. Mikkel. And he’s actually really good with them. So, I don’t know. I suppose it could be worse. They could hate him and not want to be around him.”

“True,” she said, hesitantly. “But I’m sure it’s not easy for you.”

He shrugged. “No, but I’m glad. If my wife had left me for some asshole, I think it would have been harder. But they seem—it’s so strange to say it. They seem to be working, I guess.” He shook his head, obviously incredulous at the words he’d just spoken. But Gwen smiled, nudging him gently with her shoulder as they walked.

“Good for you,” she said, and he shrugged again. “You’re handling this incredibly well.”

“Well, I don’t _feel_ like I am,” he said, laughing mirthlessly. “I feel like I’m going crazy most of the time.”

“It’s understandable, I think,” Gwen said. “I’m glad you’re here, honestly. And not there. You deserve some peace.”

He laughed, softly, looking up at her with that gratitude again. She smiled, but then had to look away. She wasn’t sure which was preferable—that, or the smug, slightly lascivious grin. Either way, it made her feel things she wasn’t ready for.

Then she looked up and saw trees in the waning twilight, and an expanse of green.

“Are we at the park already?” she asked, incredulous. It hadn’t felt like that long but they’d covered a lot of ground.

“We are,” he said, smiling.

“Is this place on the other side of the park?” she asked. As comfortable as her shoes were, they weren’t exactly meant for anything over a mile.

“Maybe,” he said, as they crossed the street to find themselves suddenly in Hyde Park.

“Why didn’t you just get a closer hotel?” she asked. She didn’t like feeling that he knew more than she did.

He shrugged. “Maybe I didn’t want to,” he said. “I thought it would be a nice walk.”

She shook her head as the entered through the Marble Arch, shoulders bumping against each other as they did so. Impetuously, she grabbed his arm, gripping it tightly in her hand. Two could play at this game.

He looked down at her hand, and then back up at her, a little thrown by the gesture, but a hint of amusement in his expression nonetheless.

“It _will_ be a nice walk, actually,” she said. _Why not?_ She asked herself as they walked on, past the groups congregated on the pavement, enjoying the lovely evening. A little exercise never hurt anyone.

They crossed the street, Gwen letting Nikolaj lead, and soon they were strolling down one of the many quiet walking paths, their steps automatically slowing. The leaves had started to turn this past week with the onslaught of colder weather, and she marvelled at the tall, ancient foliage above her as they walked.

The smell of nature, foreign to her after so long in the city, hit her nostrils, and she smiled, leaning in to Nikolaj involuntarily. He’d been right—this was nice. It’d been so long since she’d done something like this, something simply for the joy of the experience.

She felt herself calming as they walked along in companionable silence, her body molding into his of its own accord. If he noticed, he didn’t comment, walking stolidly beside her.

It was so quiet—peaceful, even, though they were only mere metres into the park. The trees muffled the noise of the nearby road, and they could hear only joggers and cyclists as they passed, and the occasional snippet of conversation. No one noticed them in the dim park lights. No one even glanced their way as they walked along, her body becoming increasingly comfortable with the feel of him against her.

She tried valiantly to fight it, to keep her distance. But it had been so long since she’d even touched another person, let alone a man, that she was finding it increasingly difficult to care. He was warm next to her, even through the wool of their coats, and solid. Tangible, unlike the sad fantasies she’d been keeping herself sane with over the past seven months.

She felt her head dropping against his shoulder and the reassuring pressure of his head against hers, letting her know he acquiesced to the contact. She sighed, hating how contented she sounded.

“I missed this,” she said, and regretted it immediately. She felt, rather than heard, the hum of his reply.

And then she felt his right hand reach over and gently grasp the hand clamped over his arm, loosening her grip and guiding her right hand into his left. Their hands interlocked, fingers threading through each other like they’d been doing this for years. She lifted her head from his shoulder, turning it toward him in the gloaming.

“Maybe too much,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper, but his half-smile told her that he’d heard.

He shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “Try not to think about it too much, Gwen.” His voice was soft and warm, and her eyes closed at the sound of it.

She wanted nothing more than to do that. She had since she’d learned of his divorce and of his wife’s role in it. She’d wanted to comfort him. And she wanted _him_ , desperately. Wanted _this._ Wanted to join together and heal their wounded hearts. But it wasn’t that simple. It never was. Maybe it would have been if it’d been a decade earlier, before the television show that rocketed their characters to household names.

But now it mattered what she did in her personal life. She hated that her career could be impacted by the choices she made. But it was the nature of the business. She wished she could do as Lena said and did, not caring a whit what anyone thought or said, following her heart and her desires. But she was too methodical for that, too much in her head to just act. It had taken her years of drama school just to learn that that was an option.

And it wasn’t just her career she had to consider. She’d always been wary of romantic relationships, tending to keep others at a distance. Giles was the first person she’d truly trusted to show her the real her. But then hadn’t Nikolaj seen that? They’d travelled together, worked and trained together for hours, day after day. Nearly went mad filming in freezing conditions in Northern Ireland all night. They knew each other well. Maybe sometimes better than their partners had. And still here they were, unable to keep away from each other.

She did know that it felt very good to have him beside her, to feel their hands clasped together as if they’d laid claim on each other. But then—they hadn’t. They hadn’t spoken of what this was, hadn’t even acknowledged that this _was_ a this.

 _Who cares?_ half her brain said, her left hand reaching over to grasp his arm above where their hands were joined, pulling him back against her. Her head lolled, finding itself again on his shoulder. This felt good, felt right. It always had. Perhaps that was what scared her. That this was something unlike any other thing she’d ever experienced. That this could _be something._ That there was too much at stake.

But then she felt the warm pressure again of his head leaning against hers, their hands clasped together in the cool night air, and it was hard to be scared. She wanted so badly just to collapse into him, to spend her days with him. To not be alone anymore. They’d spoken almost every day since they started speaking again, either via text or phone. They told each other about their days, called each other when they needed someone to talk to.

“I can hear you thinking,” Nikolaj said, and they both chuckled.

“You got me,” she said, still smiling. She took a deep breath, carefully considering her next words. She could hardly see. It was proper dark now, the sun a mere memory and the occasional lamppost the only light they had. “This shouldn’t—be so easy.” Her voice was so low, she wondered if he’d heard her.

“Why not?” he asked, his tone so incredulous she turned her head to look at him.

“How can we just—fall into this? We’re both really lonely and I—”

“Gwen,” he said, shaking his head. “You think I don’t know what I want?” His eyes were on hers as he said it, and she felt like her heart was going to stop. Her eyebrows shot up as she tried to form words.

“Me?” she asked, and it was _almost_ comical. Nikolaj smiled. Maybe she was starting to figure out why he found her so hilarious.

“You’re surprised?” he asked. She looked away.

“I just—it’s only been what? Four months, Nikolaj. You two were—”

“I know,” he said, sighing impatiently. “I know. But honestly being away from there has given me some clarity.”

She turned to look at him in the dim light, their hands still clasped tightly. Her heart was thudding in her chest, hope and fear making it hard to think.

“Do _you_ know what you want?” he asked, softly, almost hesitantly. She sighed, but a smile came to her lips nonetheless.

“I do,” she said, nodding. “But I’m afraid. I want to do this right.”

“There is no _right_ way,” he said, impatiently and she rolled her eyes. Always so impetuous.

“You know what I mean. Take it slow. There’s kids involved.”

Nikolaj nodded, conciliatory. “Yes,” he said. “But I’m not asking you to meet them or anything like that. Not yet. You said it yourself—it’s better for them that I’m happy. I see it with their mother. They like that she has someone.”

“And I’m—” she laughed a little, shaking her head “—what makes you happy?” She forced herself to look at him, seeing that look in his eye again—the gratitude, the need, all rolled into one. He wasn’t lying. She laughed again, looking away. This was absurd.

“Gwen,” he said, and she turned to look at him. He took a deep breath. “Of course you are. You always have.”

She bit her lip, the stupid tears burning at the corner of her eyes _. The utter bastard! How dare he do this now?_ She took a deep breath.

“Okay,” she replied, when she could finally talk. “Okay. I want—I mean, you do, too. Make me happy.”

He smiled then, his white teeth shining in the dim light. She smiled, too, shaking her head. _Bonkers,_ she thought.

“I think,” he said, looking up and she followed his gaze, to a large dark shape off in the distance. “Is that the statue of Achilles?” he asked.

“It is,” she replied. They’d nearly walked the whole length of the park, so lost in each other it hadn’t felt like any time at all.

“This is where we exit, then,” he said, pointing toward the gate. They went through, crossing the street, and then another street and like that, they were out of the park, strolling down Brick Street in Mayfair.

And like that the spell was broken. There were lights here, and people walking, no doubt with mobile phones at the ready to take a picture of Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister out on the town.

She dropped her hand from his arm, pulling her other hand out of his reluctantly. He looked down, a tinge of disappointment on his face as her right arm looped through his innocently. She hated to do it, but she saw the recognition on a few of the faces they'd passed and couldn’t deal with any attention on their relationship tonight. It was theirs right now—no one else’s. There were things that weren’t for public consumption, and this certainly fell into that category.

“So,” she said, as they turned onto Piccadilly and merged with the massive throng of pedestrians. “Are we there yet?”

“Just a few more blocks,” he said, clearing his throat.

He turned to look at her and she hazarded a glance, seeing the twinge of doubt in his expression. Guilt filled her at once and she smiled brightly, nodding at him.

His expression softened, relief on his face. He understood. She breathed a sigh as they walked along, still quite unable to believe that anything that had happened this night had actually happened.

But it had. Her head was still swimming with the words that’d been said. A wall that had gone up eight years ago—after his rude introduction in a make-up trailer—had fallen. And she felt a little unsteady at the absence of it. This thing between them was now a _thing_ , something tangible and impossible to ignore. It left her a little breathless and disoriented as they walked along.

She was struggling to process it, to compartmentalise it. They still had a dinner ahead of them, an hour or two spent sitting across from each other in a semi-private setting. She shook her head, trying to summon some emotional fortitude.

But then she took a glance at his face, lit up in the lights of the oncoming cars, and smiled. Despite everything, the sight of him next to her, after everything he’d confessed, filled her with a dizzying, ecstatic hope. She tried to temper it. There was still a lot to be sorted.

She took a deep breath, gripping his arm tightly as they walked. They were nearly there, and she needed to keep her wits about her.

She could do this.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to all the commenters (especially the ones I haven't replied to yet) who have kept me going these several months, and, as ever, my beta, Arwen and my nameless Tumblr N/G fan-you know who you are. Enjoy!  
> ETA: Check the notes at the end of the chapter to see the actual Reading Room

If Gwen had thought that dinner would give her a chance to think clearly about what had just happened, or to compartmentalise her emotions, she was soon proved wrong when they were led to their table. 

He’d taken her to HIDE, which pleased her greatly, as she’d been wanting to go for ages. But she hadn’t expected the little nook they were led to. Nikolaj had booked them a private booth for the evening. 

It was called the Reading Room, and it looked like something out of a fairy tale. Or Harry Potter. 

It consisted of a circular tufted sofa, recessed into a little windowed alcove, its base stacks of old books. And there were more books, too, open and fastened to a metal frame into a lighted archway above their heads, that coiled down into the fireplace recessed into the wall beside the booth. 

It was ridiculous, and whimsical, and terribly romantic, and she could only stare at him, loose-jawed, as they were seated into a booth clearly intended for many more than two people. 

He smiled back at her, clearly pleased with himself, his white teeth bright in the dim light.  As the maître d’ recited the specials to them, filling their water glasses, Nikolaj took the wine list and ordered a bottle of red before she could even say a word. 

And then they were alone again, with only the massive table and the stupidly romantic ambience to keep them company. 

“Nikolaj!” she scolded, once she’d regained her senses. 

“What?” he asked, playing dumb. His eyes were wide and innocent, but the impudent grin gave him away. He looked away, taking a long draught from his water glass, the ice clinking as he placed it back down on the table. 

“You  _know_  what,” she said, trying to reprimand him, but finding it hard to keep the smile off  _her_  face. It really was quite quaint, in their little nook. The lighting was perfect, warm and twinkling off the window, through which she could see the trees of Green Park, and the lights of Buckingham Palace in the distance. They were rather sheltered, too, from staff and passersby. It made their conversations and actions completely private from the rest of the patrons.   

It was ridiculous, trying to keep her head about her when his tanned and smiling face was watching her across the table, the warm light dancing over his chiselled features. He really was a beautiful man. 

Nikolaj shrugged, suddenly finding the menu very interesting. 

“Like I said, Gwen,” he said, after a few seconds. His eyes flicked up to hers. “Just go with it,” he said, nonchalantly. 

But, to her, it was anything but nonchalant. She’d spent the last few days ruminating over the prospect of  _them_ , and she knew it had to done right, no matter how cozy and relaxed she felt right now, how much she wanted to move over and cuddle up beside him. It took  _time_  to get to know someone in that way.   

She sighed, closing her eyes, the stupid smile on her face giving her away.  _But then,_ she thought,  _you’ve known him in all other ways for nearly ten years._ There was an incredible intimacy there—more than she’d had with any other person she hadn’t dated or wasn’t related to.She opened her eyes and sighed softly, looking down at the menu but finding it very hard to think about food.  

 _He’s right_ , her brain started again.  _Let go a little. Hold your own, but enjoy yourself. You’re both single._  

She frowned as her eyes scanned the list of entrees. Her brain had raised a salient point.  _They were both unattached._ Nothing but a bare finger where that ring of his used to be, taunting her, haunting her, even. And her with no impeccably-manicured Islington flat to go home to, with the partner to match.  

 _They could do whatever they wanted._  

Her pulse spiked at the realization. She’d seen it as a liability earlier, but as she settled into the evening and her anxiety ebbed, she started to realise it was in fact, rather exciting. More so, it was an opportunity.  

She glanced up at Nikolaj, whose own dark blue eyes, nearly black in the soft lamplight, looked up from the menu and met hers. She shared a smile with him, a little bubble of giddiness rising up.  _Go with it._  

She smiled at him, nodding.  _Okay._  

The waiter arrived at that moment with their wine, and she turned to him, greeting him warmly. He poured them both a glass, and she took hers gingerly, knowing the consequences of the liquid within. She looked up at her dinner partner, who was holding his own glass aloft.  

“A toast, then,” she said, trying to avoid his gaze and failing. His eyes shone, a broad smile on his handsome face. “To ‘going with it’,” she said, smiling. “Whatever that means.” 

He laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he clinked his wine glass against hers. 

“Skål,” he said, in Danish, and she laughed, and they both drank. 

μ 

Gwen broke her two-drink limit twenty minutes into their meal. In fact, they hadn’t even received their main course yet, the two of them sharing a platter of crudités that she was finding absolutely delectable. It was around the time that the appetisers had arrived that she’d found herself with an empty glass, and, not wanting the fun to stop, had refilled it.  

Nikolaj Coster-Waldau's slightly chaotic presence had that effect on people. He was engaging, energising, unnerving at times. And the addition of alcohol always added to the enjoyment.  

Their repartee soon began again in earnest, with the two of them catching up on everything they’d missed since the last time they’d been together. And that, interspersed with the gentle teasing and discreet flirting, was what she knew made them such a compelling pair. Everything was so _easy_ between them. And fun. It was unlike any other relationship she’d ever had. 

“Isn’t it weird—sometimes it still doesn’t feel real,” Nikolaj said, mouth full of food. She shook her head at him, suppressing a laugh. He truly didn’t care about propriety, which belied his pristine appearance and impeccable styling. It was such a strange juxtaposition, but endearing nonetheless. 

“What doesn’t?” she asked, taking a sip of red. 

“That the show’s over,” he said. He looked up, and shook his head, as if it made no sense. “It’s so strange to think we all won’t be working together again.” 

“I know,” she said, a little sadly. She was glad to be done with the work, but the thought of never working with the cast and crew again was hard to stomach. She’d learned so much working on the show, met so many people that’d become almost like family to her. It was going to be hard to let go. “But we’ll still see them, here and there. Reunions and things.” 

“True,” he conceded, taking a gulp of own his wine. He licked the wine rather languidly from his lips, and she flicked eyes away from his mouth before he saw her watching. “It will never be the same, though.” 

She looked back up at him. His cobalt eyes were boring into hers. 

“I will miss working with you, Gwen,” he said, his voice soft and low, all trace of pretension or facetiousness gone. “More than anyone else.” 

She smiled. Her face, traitor that it was, flushed. “God, we had some really great times, didn’t we?” she said, smiling widely, already feeling the laughter bubbling up in her stomach. “That bloody boat.” 

Nikolaj laughed, hard, and that set her off. She cackled loudly, grateful for the relative privacy of the booth. 

“I’m so sorry—” he managed to croak out. “I know it must have been very uncomfortable.” 

“It was!” she said, faux-outraged, and he laughed again. “I couldn’t bend, Nikolaj!” 

Her attempt at engendering sympathy made him laugh even harder. 

“I’m so sorry,” he said, trying to calm his breathing. “I know,” he said, finally, when he’d managed to compose himself.  “I was an arsehole, wasn’t it?” 

“You were! Sitting there in your comfy robes while I lumbered around like the Tin Man,” she said, trying to repress the laugh that came up, but failing. 

“They were quite comfortable,” he said, smiling. She shook her head.  

“You’re incorrigible,” she said. He shrugged, looking out the window. 

“I was, though, Gwen,” he said after a few seconds, almost somberly. 

“What?” she asked. 

“An arsehole!” he said, throwing the hand not holding his wine glass into the air. “To you, mostly. I—” he cleared his throat as Gwen’s eyebrows rose, surprised with this turn of events. “I was under a lot of pressure. From home, at work. I was trying to be a father from miles away and it wasn’t working most of the time. Nukaaka was always demanding more of me and I couldn’t give it.” He shrugged, taking another drink. “But the truth was—I  _enjoyed_ it. The work. You,” he said, pointing a finger at her. She bit her lip and looked away. “I loved being a father, too—don’t get me wrong—and a husband. But I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. So I’m sorry,” he finished. She looked at him to see real remorse there. An actual acknowledgment of wrongdoing. She was stunned.

“Wow,” she said, unable to really think of anything else to say. “Thank you.” She never thought that he’d ever acknowledge all those little incidents, the ones she’d just laughed off in the moment, even if they hurt a little. The shouting before the Harrenhal scene, their first meeting, the impatience while she struggled with the boat. There were more, of course. Losing his patience here and there, sulking, shouting. Teasing that sometimes crossed the line. 

“Apology accepted,” she said, after some contemplation, and he looked up, almost surprised. “Truly,” she said, “I never expected that you would acknowledge it.” 

“Well,” he said, “I guess this is the new me.” He smiled, cheekily, before taking another sip of wine. “I’ve had to grow up a lot in the past few months,” he said. “That’s the positive part of what happened, I guess. It was a very humbling experience.” He smiled, shrugging.  

Gwen laughed, not unkindly, and nodded.  

“Well I’m glad you decided to see the positive in the situation.” 

He cocked his head. “I didn’t have a choice, honestly,” he said. “You helped.”  

Gwen blushed, hotly, and dropped her gaze. When she looked back up, he laughed softly.  

“Well I’m happy to have been of help,” she said, taking a generous sip of wine while her heart beat madly in her chest. This man would be the death of her yet. 

“It was all so much fun,” he said, after a few seconds, almost longingly. “The show. I  _will_  miss it. It didn’t feel like work, did it?” 

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “We were lucky to find it.” 

“Very true,” he said, nodding. “You think someone will cast both of us in something, eventually?” 

“You worked with Carice. I don’t think it’s that far out of the realm of possibility” 

“True,” he said. His gaze fell on the surface of the wooden table as he swirled his wine around in his glass. “I’ve been thinking about something,” he said, and she felt her eyebrows go up of their own accord.  

“Oh?” she asked. 

“It was so strange this fall when production didn’t start,” Nikolaj said. 

“Yeah,” Gwen said, nodding. She hadn’t thought of it, with everything going on. But it had felt like something was missing. “I was wondering why I felt so—untethered.” 

“That’s a good word for it,” he responding, taking a swig of wine. “I’ve been chatting with few friends of mine,” he said, his eyes still cast downward. “I think we’re going to form our own production company.”  

He looked up just as Gwen gasped. 

“ _Seriously_?” she asked, a little louder than she intended. 

“Yeah,” he said. “I wanted to keep it quiet until it was for sure, but I don’t know. I  _really_ wanted to tell you,” he said. She struggled to hold his gaze, the intensity behind it overwhelming her a bit. 

“What sort of films will you be producing, do you think?” 

“I don’t know,” he said, as if he hadn’t been asked the question before. “Anything we can get, really. Anything we want.” He shrugged, laughing. “But—I do really want to work with you, Gwen. I want to find films for you—” 

“Nikolaj—” 

“No, this isn’t a personal thing at all,” he said, shaking his head. “I mean it is, obviously—” Gwen laughed, “—but you’re brilliant! I want to work with you. I don’t care how. I mean, I’m sure you you’re doing fine on your own,” he said, popping an hors d’oeuvre into his mouth.  

“I am,” she said, her tone less than certain. “But I have to fight for it. Things don’t just come to me, usually.” 

“You think it’s any different for me?” he asked. “You might be surprised to know how many shitty scripts I have to go through until one that is even—mediocre comes my way,” he said, and she snorted. “And they haven’t exactly been blockbusters. I thought Jaime would be the break I needed, but it hasn’t exactly worked out that way.” 

“Give it time. And on the plus side, you appear to be aging like a fine wine,” she said, the alcohol perfusing her system giving her a reckless courage. “You just keep getting better,” she finished, winking as she downed the last of her second glass. 

Nikolaj had the gall to blush, his head dipping in the dim light. His eyes were lidded when he looked up at her, and her heart rate sped at what she saw there—want, and he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore.  _He wanted her._ His gaze raked down from her face to her neck and the tight white top she knew left nothing to the imagination.  

She took a deep breath, fiddling with her empty wine glass. She was certain anywhere he looked was flushed beet-red, and her face, beneath the make-up, was feverish. 

“Nik,” she said, the rarely-used nickname slipping out softly of its own accord, “you don’t have to. I mean, I’m getting work.” 

“It’s up to you,” he said, raising his hands, one of which held his glass. The wine sloshed around loudly. 

“But thank you,” she said, the stupid tears threatening to fall burning at the corners of her eyes. “I can’t give you an answer right now. I would like to work with you, too. It feels so strange to think we won’t.” 

“I agree,” he said. He was already pouring himself another glass of wine, having finished his second when, exactly? She couldn’t remember and couldn’t find it in her to care. He filled hers too before she could object, thereby finishing off their first bottle of wine. “To the future,” he said, lifting his glass in a toast.  

She did the same, tapping her glass against his. She held his gaze, unable to look away from the promise she saw there, the implication of his words. She wanted so badly to touch him, to reach across the massive table and grab his hand.  

But then the waiter arrived two seconds later, his arms laden with their food, and the moment was over.  

μ

The food became their focus then, with the two of them oohing and aahing over the imaginative presentation and interesting flavours, sharing bits of each other’s meals and laughing loudly. It didn’t matter what they were doing, really. The two of them never wanted for conversation.  

It was always easy to talk to him. It was this that made it easy to imagine them spending a great deal more time together. Living together, even. Seeing each other every day and night, laughing and joking, eating meals together. Arguing over the washing up and falling asleep on the sofa together. It was almost too much to hope for. 

But he was here with her now, his eyes rarely leaving hers, his hands often journeying over the wide table to touch her arm or shoulder and sending frissons of pleasure straight through her. She tried to temper her expectations. But she still hoped. 

“So, your mom,” Nikolaj said, again while still chewing his food. “She is still in London?” 

Gwen nodded. “For the rest of the week,” she said, taking a sip of red to cleanse her palate. “I had a really lovely time with her the other day.” 

“Nice!” Nikolaj said, smiling. “What’s she like?” 

Gwen laughed. “Well,” she said, carefully choosing her words, “she’s mellowed in her old age, but, when I was younger it was a different story.” She took another quaff of wine, mindful of how her movements had slowed, her mind starting to become a little hazy. “She was quite a bit younger than my father. He was eighteen years older, I think? They met and kind of joined up like the Brady Bunch.” 

“With their many children,” Nikolaj supplied, and she nodded. “How many did they have, again?” 

“Including me? Seven.” She shook her head, taking another drink.  

“That must have been interesting.” 

“Oh yes,” she said, laughing. “Most of my father’s children were grown at that point. Or, almost grown. It was mostly me and my two brothers, but they still visited often. They were always around. And I still speak to all of them. I do my best.” She laughed, shaking her head. “But they’re scattered all over England and Scotland and there are  _so many_  of them.” It was still a little mad to think of how she’d grown up, even if it was perfectly normal to her at the time. 

Nikolaj nodded. He’d finished his meal expeditiously, and his plates were discarded, pushed off to the side of the table. Wine was his only sustenance now, and the red of his cheeks and glassiness of his eyes told her it had taken effect. 

“I love my mother, I do. But she was strict, growing up. My father, too. I suppose they had to be. She’s strong, and stubborn. But loving. You’d like her, I think,” she finished, looking up at him as she sipped her wine. 

“I can’t wait to meet her,” he said, and she smiled, shaking her head at his impudence. She’d been more moderate in her wine consumption but it hadn’t made much of a difference. Despite being an inch and a half taller than her dinner companion and likely only about a stone or so lighter, it still affected her quicker than it did him.  

And they were in that weird kind of liminal space between sobriety and drunkenness, where there was still judgement but inhibitions were steadily disappearing. It was her favourite part of drinking. That bit before things started to blur, where everything was still exciting and full of possibility.

Still, they’d managed to steer clear of everything spoken about in the park.

Part of her hoped they could keep it that way, and enjoy the rest of the evening just as they always were. But another part of held out a wild hope to speak of it again, yearned to ask him how he truly felt, what he wanted from her.  

It was not long after that that her phone buzzed, and she removed it discreetly from her purse. Lena Headey was inquiring about how her dinner was going.  _Shit, Lena!_ She’d forgotten, with how everything had gone, that she’d planned to have her crash the party. 

She sighed, looking up at her dinner partner, who smiled back at her, reminding her of Jaime at the victory feast. It gave her heart a little jolt, to think of that strange parallel again, between fact and fiction. And that their characters hadn’t gotten their happy ending.

“Everything okay?” he asked, as astute as ever, and she nodded automatically, trying to snap out of her reverie. 

“Yeah, I just need to use the toilet,” she said, smiling. “Too much wine!” 

“No such thing!” Nikolaj said, pouring himself another glass. 

She laughed, grabbing her purse and getting up out of her seat. Her head spun a little as she approached the head of the stairs. She silently praised her decision to wear flats as she carefully plodded down the stairs, the wine she’d drunk heavy in her belly.

As she passed the front entrance, she covetously eyed the few people outside smoking. She was trying to quit, but she still managed to polish off at least a packet every month. And the cigarettes she carried with her were burning a hole through her purse, so to speak. 

She shook her head, stepping through the doors, sighing as the cold air hit her flushed face. She fished out a fag and lit one, pulling out her phone and ignoring the other patrons as she pressed Lena’s name in her contacts.  

“How’s it going?” the older woman answered after one ring, apropos of nothing. Gwen laughed. 

“Hello to you, too!” She took a deep drag from her cigarette, letting the nicotine work its way into her bloodstream. “It’s actually been fantastic,” she admitted, trying to keep the smile off her face. “But terrifying.” 

“Oh,” Lena moaned, sounding almost as if she were in pain. ”So what did you talk about?” 

“Oh, good lord.” She shook her head, trying to clear it, but the wine was doing its job. Her thoughts were swirling around, difficult to pin down. Her heart was racing from the cigarette and thoughts of the man sitting upstairs waiting for her. “I cannot even—we walked through the park. I don’t know, I think he did it on purpose, actually. It was getting dark and I took his arm and we talked, Lena. We actually talked. And I think he’s open to—I don’t know! Trying  _us_  out. I don’t know,” she said, realising she was speaking quite loudly and that other patron smoking near her was glancing her way.  

She frowned, moving further from the door, down the pavement. Last thing she needed was grainy photos of her smoking in the Daily Mail the next day. 

“That  _is_ fantastic!” Lena crowed, sounding shocked. “Have you spoken about it at dinner?” 

“No, that’s just it,” Gwen replied, huffing on her cigarette almost aggressively, “haven’t said a word about it since. And I’m not sure that I want to. What do you think?” 

“Well, it’s a bit soon—” 

“Exactly!” Gwen interjected, loudly. The fag was exacerbating the effects of the wine, and she found herself not able to care about the volume of her voice. “They were together for twenty years! Longer than that. I’m supposed to believe he’s ready after four months?” 

“True,” Lena conceded. “But you know how he is, Gwen. He goes by his gut. I don’t think he’d be saying what he said if he didn’t know he meant it.”  

Gwen sighed, sullenly taking another drag of her cigarette.  _Just go with it,_ he’d said. She wondered, idly, if Nikolaj was wondering where she’d got to.  

“But,” Lena continued, “you are right. It is a little soon. It just means taking things slow. But,” she said, huffing out a breath, “if you think about it—it certainly didn’t slow Nukaaka down.” 

Gwen cackled, finishing off her smoke and stubbing it out on the pavement, taking good care to throw it in the bin. 

“You’re right, though. He said she seems happy with this new bloke.” She sighed deeply, sucking in the fresh, cool air. “I just hope he’s not looking for a rebound shag. Something to fill that hole in his heart. Or his—pants.” 

“Gwen, if he were looking for that, he’d call up an old girlfriend in Copenhagen or something. Go on Tinder. He wouldn’t fly across the sea to see one of his oldest and best friends and risk the relationship you already have.” 

Gwen nodded. “You’re right, as ever. We’ll have to talk about it. Eventually. We’re having such a good night, I don’t even want to bring it up.” 

Lena was silent for a few seconds. “For what it’s worth, Gwen. I  _do_ think he has feelings for you. This is no fling for him.” 

Gwen laughed, incredulously. “It’s just so hard to believe. After everything.” 

“I know what you mean. But you know what? You’ve got a chance now, and you’ve got to take it. At your own pace, certainly, but you can’t let this pass you by. You two could be—” 

“I know, I know,” Gwen said. She knew.  _Loving, happy, vivacious. Legendary. Giving Brangelina a run for their money._ But there was no point in counting chickens before the eggs were even laid. “Thank you, Lena. I best be off. I’m sure my dinner companion is wondering if my entrée agreed with me or not. I told him I was going to the toilet.” She laughed, a little nervously.

“Okay, darling,” Lena said. “Have a wonderful evening, and try to think less, eh? Go with your gut.” 

Gwen laughed derisively. “That’s gotten me into trouble before, and you know it.” 

“I do, I do. But you’re both single. And life is short, my dear. So fuck off and have some fun! Shag his brains out!” 

“Lena!” Gwen scolded, even as she was smiling madly. 

“Or not,” she said mildly. “Good luck!” 

“Thank you,” Gwen replied, smiling. “Love you.” 

“Love you, too,” Lena replied, and then the line went dead.  

Gwen sighed, tucking her phone back into her purse and turning back toward the door. The cool air had done wonders, and she felt more clear-headed than she had in hours. 

She took a deep breath and walked back into the restaurant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the months-long wait between chapters! I went from being unemployed to working 70 hour weeks to working normal weeks, to working 60 hour weeks, all while starting a new relationship and having no time for anything. Anyways, sadly, the relationship is over, but work has thankfully slowed down and I can finally commit my time to everything I've been neglecting. Feeling pretty good and I'm so grateful to you all for all of your support. I would not have been able to finish this chapter (which has changed about 100 times-I just couldn't get it right) without you guys!! I really want to finish this story and I'm so glad you're all here for the ride!
> 
> Reading Room, HIDE, Mayfair, London:  
> 


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